I sewed my prom dress from my dad’s army uniform to honor him — my stepmother mocked me until a military officer knocked on the door and handed her a note that made her turn pale.
My mother died while giving birth to me. After that, it was just my father and me.
Later, my father remarried a woman named Camila. She already had two daughters from a previous marriage.
Camila was kind to me only when my father was home. He was in the military, and whenever he returned to duty, she became distant and cold toward me.
But I had my father, and that was enough for me.
Six years ago, my father died while serving.
My heart was broken.
After that, Camila and her daughters took off their masks, and suddenly I became their maid — the one who had to clean up after them and cook for them.
Camila kept saying I should be grateful that she was raising me instead of sending me to an orphanage.
