Spring in our neck of the woods is nothing short of beautiful. And this year, it’s unusually warm. Everything is bursting with green and the sweet scent of blossoms. We live on the outskirts of a small village, right by the forest, in a lovely two-story house. There’s a modest orchard of fruit trees near the house, and not far off, there’s a stunning lake. It used to be just a tiny pond, but my uncle, who never does anything by halves, had it dug out, cleaned up, and stocked with fish. Now it’s a sizable, pristine lake where I love to swim in the summer. I’m not the only one—plenty of villagers come to take a dip when the weather’s hot. Fishing, though, isn’t free. You’ve got to pay for the privilege. My uncle’s right-hand man, Nick, handles that. Ever since Uncle became a local councilman and leased the lake, Nick’s had his hands full. Besides the lake, he takes care of all sorts of chores around the property—tending the orchard, the vegetable garden, and whatever else needs doing.
But it’s only mid-May now. The water’s still a bit too chilly for swimming. Otherwise, I’d be diving in right this minute instead of just sitting by the shore. I could really use a refresh after a long, hard day. Today, Mom, my sister, and I worked our tails off in the garden and around the house. We cleaned, cooked, and got everything in order. Sometimes my sister, Mira—short for Miranda—grumbles that we’re nothing but unpaid help around here. But she’d better not let anyone overhear that. If Uncle Stephen or his wife catch wind of it, we’ll all be in for a scolding. They never miss a chance to remind us that we’re only living in this house out of the goodness of their hearts. According to them, nobody’s forcing our “pitiful” little family of three to stay. Mira probably feels it the worst. She’s got cerebral palsy. Since she was a kid, she’s struggled to walk, and her face is a bit asymmetrical because of it.
So here I am, gazing at the evening view of the lake, lost in thought about our lives. Each of us tries to be grateful and pull our weight. Mom, on top of all the housework, also works as a cleaner in a wealthy household about a mile away, on the other side of the lake. She’s actually a trained Polish language teacher, but after I was born, she never went back to the classroom. There was no one to look after me. Mira, who’s fifteen years older than me, could only babysit after school.
Mira, despite her condition, earns a little on the side. She’s a real brain, tutoring English and Polish. In our well-to-do village, there’s no shortage of students. Some kids want to boost their grades, others are prepping for college entrance exams. Even a few adults come by for help with translations or to brush up on their skills. It’s not a big income, but it’s a darn sight better than her disability pension. A while back, Uncle softened up enough to help Mira finish college through a correspondence program.
As for me, at eighteen, I’m not bringing in any money. I’m just a drain on the family finances. That’s how it turned out. After high school, I worked for a year at Uncle Stephen’s company. In return, he promised to pay for my training at a hairdressing school. A sort of “earn your keep” deal. True to his word, Uncle came through. So now, I’m thrilled to be studying hairstyling at the prestigious Irene Mashko Academy. Luckily, it’s not too far to travel. I absolutely love creating beautiful hairstyles and cuts. I’ve already gotten pretty good at it. When a woman comes in with gray roots showing, and I give her a neat trim, dye it a gorgeous shade, and style it just right—she looks years younger and positively glows. It’s an incredible feeling. People leave happier, more confident, more attractive. It’s amazing. Though it’s not always easy, especially at first. Getting it exactly how the client pictures it in their head is tough. I used to get so nervous my hands would shake. Terrifying. But little by little, I’ve gotten the hang of it. I’m hoping, with time, I’ll become a true master of the craft. Just two weeks until my exams. Once I get my diploma, it’s off to work. Maybe then Uncle Stephen will ease up a bit? Though… I wouldn’t bet on it.
I’ve dreamed for so long of the day I’ll be independent, my own boss. To live on my own, free from Uncle’s endless lectures and the skeptical glares of his “charming” wife, Rachel. I don’t even want to think about their kids. Well, you can’t choose your family. I sigh. How wonderful it would be to buy a little place of our own and live there with Mom and Mira in peace and happiness. But when will that ever happen?
It’s so easy to think clearly in this quiet, picturesque spot. I wish I could linger by the lake longer, alone with my thoughts. I’m tempted to sit closer and dip my feet in the water. It looks so inviting, shimmering in the evening sunlight, calling to me. But I probably shouldn’t risk catching a cold in the chilly water. Instead, I squat by the shore, occasionally tossing blades of grass into the ripples.
My musings are interrupted by shouts echoing from the yard.
“Where’s that girl hiding!? Mila! Mila! Where’s that good-for-nothing?” It’s the shrill voice of Uncle’s wife. She’s looking for me. What on earth have I done now? I can’t think of anything terrible. So much for a peaceful moment… I’ve got to head back. I cast a wistful glance at the darkening surface of the lake, stand up, and hurry toward the house. As I near the yard, I spot Aunt Rachel storming toward me, her face twisted with anger. I’d love to disappear somewhere… but there’s no escaping this. I walk up calmly and ask what’s wrong.
“You’ve got the nerve to ask?!! How dare you! Where’s my gold pendant with the pearls? I saw it just a few days ago, and now it’s gone!” Rachel screeches at me.
“I don’t know. I didn’t take your pendant. You know I never go into your room,” I reply evenly. Probably her darling daughter took it, and as usual, I’m the one to blame. It wouldn’t be the first time. What am I supposed to do now?
“Oh, sure, playing innocent. Who else would’ve taken it?!”
“I don’t know. Maybe Anastasia borrowed it to show off at a party. Didn’t she go out dancing with friends tonight?”
“Trying to pin the blame on someone else, are you? Watch yourself—if that pendant doesn’t turn up, I’ll tell your uncle, and he’ll teach you all a lesson about stealing!!!” She goes on ranting and threatening for a while. I just stand there quietly. There’s no point saying anything else; she won’t believe me anyway. It’s always like this. No matter what happens, it’s me, Mom, or Mira who gets the blame. Their precious kids can do no wrong. Never mind that more often than not, it turns out Anastasia or Russell are the ones who’ve caused the trouble. We’re the ones who catch hell first.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, unable to stop wondering where that pendant could be. I prayed it would turn up. Mom taught us from a young age to pray when things get really bad or when we’re scared. I just hope it’s found soon—otherwise, I dread to think what they’ll do to us. I can’t afford to upset Uncle right now; I’ve got to pay the rest of my tuition by the end of the month. Mom probably won’t be able to cover it. She’s the best, always willing to help, but lately, she’s spent a lot on medical bills. Age is catching up with her. It’s sad… I decide to get a glass of water. No point lying awake. I tiptoe to the kitchen when—Bang! The front door slams, and I hear noise in the hallway. I flick on the light, instantly on edge. A moment later, our little princess, Anastasia, stumbles into the kitchen. Flushed and giggling, she sways unsteadily to the table and flops into a chair. It creaks pitifully under the weight of the eleventh-grader’s 165 pounds. We lock eyes. I’m frozen, glass of water in hand.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” she asks indifferently. And that’s when I notice it—a large gold pendant with pearls dangling from her neck. The long chain hangs over her ample chest, barely covered by her disheveled blouse. Well, I’ll be darned! There it is! I can’t help but smile.
“How was the party?” I ask, as if I’m genuinely curious.
“Hah! What’s it to you, nerd?” she drawls arrogantly. Just then, her sleepy mother appears in the kitchen doorway. She stomps over, glaring at both of us.
“What are you two doing in here?” Her eyes land on the precious piece of jewelry around her daughter’s neck. You should’ve seen her face! Shock, anger, embarrassment, and then anger again flashed across it in quick succession. She shoots a furious look at me and snaps:
“Go to bed! What are you doing wandering around at night!”
“And you, we’re going to have a talk!” she turns to her daughter. I hightail it out of there, back to my room, before things get uglier. Phew! What a relief. At least that’s one problem sorted. For a while, I can still hear Rachel’s shouts and Anastasia’s sassy retorts echoing from the kitchen, but eventually, I drift off to sleep.