A DIFFERENT HOME, A DIFFERENT NAME
The next morning came too fast. Velaria hardly slept. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of the accident, the shattered glass, and her parents' faces. When she finally fell asleep, it was only for a short while. There was a gentle knock at her door as daylight began to break. Velaria rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly. The door opened, and Mr. Raymond Williams walked in. He was already dressed for the day. His suit looked tidy, and his expression was calm. "Good morning, Velaria," he said. Velaria quickly wiped her eyes and adjusted her blanket. "Good morning... sir," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep. He moved closer and smiled at her. "How are you settling in?" Velaria hesitated. "It's... okay, sir," she replied softly. "Thank you for bringing me here." Raymond nodded gently and patted her head. "You're a brave girl," he said. Velaria didn't answer, but the words made her chest heavy a bit. "I have to leave for a business trip this morning," he continued. "But I'll be back soon." He paused and looked at her closely. "Behave, stay out of trouble, and everything will be fine. Your new mother will handle your schooling." Velaria nodded politely. "Yes, sir." A few minutes later, she watched from the upstairs window as Raymond's car moved slowly down the long driveway. The gates opened, and the car disappeared onto the road. Once it was gone, the household pretense vanished. Velaria stayed on her bed, peeking through the window when the door suddenly burst open. "Get up!" Mrs. Williams' sharp voice broke through the room. Velaria jumped in surprise. Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression annoyed. "Your room is already a mess," she snapped. Velaria quickly got out of bed. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said quietly. Behind Mrs. Williams, the eldest daughter leaned lazily against the wall. Tami rolled her eyes dramatically. "Finally awake?" she muttered. Velaria stayed silent. Instead, she quickly folded her thin blanket, smoothing the corners just as she had seen the nurses do in the hospital. "You'll start helping out today," said Mrs. Williams coldly. Velaria froze. "Sweep the compound before breakfast. Then scrub the floors, wash the dishes, and clean the kitchen." She leaned in slightly. "And don't complain. Understand?" Velaria lowered her head. "Yes... ma'am." Mrs. Williams turned to leave but then stopped. "Oh, and another thing." Velaria looked up nervously. "You won't be going to school yet," Mrs. Williams added. "Not until I enroll you in the same school as my children." Velaria nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am." But Mrs. Williams wasn't done. She studied Velaria with clear disapproval. "Also, since you'll be living under my roof, you won't be using that name anymore." Velaria blinked in confusion. "My... name?" "Yes," Mrs. Williams said sharply. "Velaria is too long. And frankly, I hate the sound of it." Velaria felt something twist painfully in her chest. Mrs. Williams continued without pause. "From now on, you will be Vera Williams. That will be the name used for your school enrollment." She stared down at the girl. "Am I clear?" Velaria's throat tightened. For a moment, she wanted to protest. She wanted to say that Velaria was the name her parents had given her. But the cold look in Mrs. Williams' eyes made the words vanish. "Yes... ma." Just like that, her name was gone. From that day on, Velaria Lopez became Vera Williams. The days that followed felt like a living nightmare for her. Every morning started before sunrise. Vera woke early to sweep the large compound outside the house, dragging the heavy broom across the wide driveway while the air was still chilly. Then she scrubbed floors, washed piles of dishes, and cleaned rooms that were already spotless. Mrs. Williams watched her every move. Every small mistake brought punishment. Sometimes it was a sharp slap. Other times, it was the sting of a belt across her arm or back. Vera quickly learned to stay quiet, move carefully, and make herself as small and invisible as possible. Weeks went by. Soon, Vera understood how the house worked. Wake up, sweep, clean, cook, stay quiet. Wait for Uncle Raymond to return from his trips. Most importantly, avoid angering Mrs. Williams. One afternoon, while carrying a bucket of water across the hallway, Vera stumbled slightly. A few drops spilled onto the polished floor. Mrs. Williams appeared instantly from the top of the staircase. "Careless," she snapped. Vera froze. "I... I'm sorry, ma." "Sorry doesn't fix mistakes," Mrs. Williams replied coldly. Her hand struck Vera's cheek sharply. "Do it again." Vera pressed her stinging cheek, blinking back tears. "Yes, ma'am." She bent down and wiped the floor carefully until it shone again. Eventually, Mrs. Williams enrolled her in school. But going to school didn't make life easier. In fact, the chores only doubled. Each morning, Vera got up before everyone else. She helped prepare breakfast and pack lunchboxes for the other children. They took the best food with them. Vera was left with crumbs and scraps. By the time she reached school, her stomach already ached with hunger. After school, she hurried back home. Not to rest, but to continue working. Laundry, cleaning, cooking. The routine never stopped. One afternoon, after school, Mrs. Williams stormed into the kitchen while Vera was washing dishes. "You're useless!" she shouted suddenly. Vera flinched. "I don't know why your father thought you could be cared for," Mrs. Williams continued bitterly. "You're nothing but a burden." Vera bit her lip hard to keep from crying. Her hands trembled from exhaustion. That afternoon, after her chores, her stomach growled painfully. "You'll eat when I say," Mrs. Williams told her, tossing a thin piece of bread toward her. The bread landed on the floor. Vera quickly picked it up. "Thank you... ma," she whispered. She carefully brushed the crumbs away and ate slowly, making sure not to waste a single bite. She was never allowed to sit at the dining table with the family. Instead, she ate alone in the kitchen. As weeks turned into months, Vera learned to move silently through the house, to eat whatever she got, and to endure the harsh words and occasional beatings without complaint. Her small bedroom upstairs became her only safe place. It wasn't much—just a narrow bed, a small dresser, and a window. But it was hers. At night, when the house finally went quiet, Vera would sit on her bed and open the small red box she had brought with her. Inside were the little drawings she and Dylan had made and the bracelet he had given her. She held the bracelet tightly in her hand. Downstairs, she could hear the Williams children laughing and talking loudly. Sometimes they mocked her as she passed by. Other times, they ignored her completely. But Vera held onto the memories that belonged to her. The hospital garden, quiet afternoons, her late parents, Dylan's gentle voice telling her stories. Those memories were her only proof that someone in the world once cared about her and believed in her. As the nights grew colder and life in the Williams house became harder, Vera clung to one small promise. The promise she and Dylan had made long ago. No matter what happens, we will find each other again.