Emilia's small frame trembled as she crouched in the corner of the damp basement, clutching a ragged, threadbare blanket around her shoulders. She tried to disappear into the cold stone wall behind her, knowing it was useless. Upstairs, her stepfather's heavy footsteps thudded across the creaking floorboards, his angry voice a muffled roar that made her heart race.

She didn't know what she had done wrong this time. It could be anything: breathing too loudly, not cleaning fast enough, or simply existing. Whatever it was, he was mad.

The door at the top of the basement stairs slammed open, and light spilled down into the dark, shadowy room. Emilia shrank further into herself, her bare toes curling against the freezing floor.

"You think you can hide down here, you little rat?" his voice bellowed. He was drunk again. He was always drunk.

Emilia's lips parted, but no sound came out. She'd learned a long time ago that begging only made things worse.

He stomped down the stairs, his shadow growing larger and larger with every step. When he reached her, she tried to shield her face, but his grip was iron as he yanked her up by her arm. Pain shot through her shoulder as he shoved her forward, and her already weak legs struggled to keep her upright.

"You're good for nothing!" he spat. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his fingers dug into her frail arm. "You just sit here, taking up space. Do you even understand how lucky you are that I let you stay in my house?

Emilia shook her head frantically, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

"Look at you," he sneered, his voice venomous. "Pathetic. You think anyone would want you? You think someone's coming to save you?" He laughed bitterly, his grip tightening.

When he threw her to the ground, her knees hit the concrete hard, and the impact sent a sharp jolt of pain up her legs. Her breath hitched as he stormed back up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him.

She stayed on the floor, her body trembling, the tears falling silently. The blanket she'd been clutching was out of reach now, and the chill seeped into her bones.

This was her life. This was all she'd ever known.

...

Upstairs, the doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the quiet house. Emilia flinched, but she didn't move. No one ever came to visit, and she knew better than to hope.

The voices above were muffled, but she could hear her stepfather's slurred speech and the clipped tones of someone else—a stranger. The sound of footsteps moving through the house made her tense.

She didn't know that the stranger was a social worker. She didn't know that someone had filed an anonymous report about suspicious activity in the house.

When the footsteps stopped at the top of the basement stairs, Emilia froze. The door creaked open slowly, and this time, it wasn't her stepfather who came down.

The social worker stepped into the dim basement, her eyes scanning the room. At first, she didn't see Emilia, curled up in the shadows. But then her gaze landed on the tiny, fragile figure on the floor.

"Oh my God," the woman whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.