THE LIFE I MADE FOR MYSELF

As the days went by, my life became increasingly unbearable. I felt like I was trapped in a never-ending nightmare, with no escape from the abuse and cruelty of my stepmother. I tried to report her to the police, but they didn't believe me. After meeting with her, they swept the case under the carpet, and I was left feeling helpless and alone.

I remembered the day I went to the police station, hoping to find some solace and protection. But instead, I was met with skepticism and dismissal. My stepmother had a way of manipulating people, of making them believe her lies and doubt my words. She was a master of deception, and I was just a vulnerable and naive girl.

When we got home, she was furious. She pushed me to the floor, her eyes blazing with anger. "Do you have the guts to report to the police?" she spat. "And you think they will believe your words over mine? News flash, my dear, to the world, I'm the best stepmom."

I cowered on the floor, feeling defeated and helpless. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I will not attempt it again."

But she just laughed, a cold and mirthless sound. "Just have it in mind that no one will save you from my hands," she said, her voice dripping with malice.

And it was true. No one believed me. Everyone thought I was crazy, that I was making up stories about my stepmother's abuse. They advised her to take me to a psychiatric hospital, and she promised them that she would do it soon.

I was trapped, with no way out. I felt like I was living in a prison, with my stepmother as my jailer. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for her to strike again.

But then, she asked me about the envelope my father had given me before he died. It was a mysterious envelope, one that he had told me to open on my eighteenth birthday. I had no idea what was inside, but I knew it was important.

My stepmother's eyes gleamed with greed as she asked me about the envelope. "Where is it?" she demanded.

I tried to play dumb, to pretend that I didn't know what she was talking about. But she wasn't having it. "Don't lie to me," she spat. "I know you have it. Where is it?"

I shook my head, trying to appear innocent. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am," I said.

But she just laughed again, her eyes glinting with malice. "Don't play games with me," she said. "I'll get it out of you, one way or another."

And then, she called for Jack, her loyal accomplice. "I need something from her," she said, her voice cold and calculating. "If she didn't tell you where the envelope is, make sure she bleeds."

I felt a surge of fear as Jack approached me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. I knew I was in for a world of pain, and I steeled myself for what was to come.

But I refused to give up. I refused to give her the envelope, no matter what she did to me. It was my only hope, my only chance at freedom. And I was determined to keep it safe, no matter what the cost.

As I sat in the empty room, tied to the iron chair, I couldn't help but think that the devil himself had a conscience more than humane. A ten-year-old girl, being treated like a criminal in her own father's house, was a travesty. I was scared, but I refused to bow to my stepmother's cruelty. The envelope, which my father had left for me as his heir, was the only thing that I had left to hold on to.

Jack, my stepmother's accomplice, sneered at me as he began to interrogate me. "Young girl, you better start talking now. Don't be stubborn. Don't let me shed a little girl's blood," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

I begged him to stop, to please not hurt me, but he just laughed. "Then tell me where the envelope is, I promise to let you go," he said, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure.

But I didn't know where the envelope was. I had given it to Uncle Jude, my father's brother, to keep for me until I turned eighteen. And now, Uncle Jude was nowhere to be found.

Jack brought out a wire, and I knew that it would end up on my body. I was terrified, but I refused to give in. "So, tell me, where is the envelope?" he asked, his voice rising in anger.

"I don't know," I replied, my voice shaking with fear.

And then, the wire landed on my body, causing me to scream in agony. I was not feeling the pain in my flesh, but deep inside my body. "Pleeeaassee stop," I begged, but Jack just kept beating me, showing no mercy.

I was a kid, for crying out loud. I should be treated as such. But my stepmother and Jack didn't care. They just wanted to get their hands on the envelope, no matter what the cost.

After what felt like hours, I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was still tied to the iron chair, and my blood was everywhere. I was hurt, my heart was bleeding, and I hurt all over.

Jack was standing over me, a look of indifference on his face. "Hey, are you awake?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

I was thirsty, so I asked him for water. But he just laughed. "What made you think that I will give you water?" he asked, his eyes glinting with cruelty.

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. "I'm ten, and I bet you have a daughter that is my age. You won't let her pass through what I'm going through. A ten-year-old girl tied to a chair, being tortured like a criminal," I said, my voice shaking with emotion.

Jack's expression changed, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of humanity in his eyes. But then, he spoke, his voice cold and hard. "Are you emotionally blackmailing me?" he asked.

I shook my head, my eyes welling up with tears. "What do you think will happen when my voice is heard by the world? Did you think you will go scot-free?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jack sneered at me. "Your voice heard by whom? Who did you think will hear your voice? Hahaha. Stop daydreaming. Even though someone manages to hear your voice, they won't believe you," he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

But I refused to give up. I looked up at him, my eyes blazing with determination. "I will speak, shout if I should, until one person hears my voice. All I need is just one person that is willing to hear me, one person that believes me. Then the world will hear my tears, my pain, through that person, the world will hear my voice. Your child or children will know the kind of person you are," I said, my voice firm and resolute.

Jack stared at me, his expression unreadable. And then, he gave me water, a small act of kindness in a sea of cruelty.

My stepmother came into the room a few minutes later, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Has she said anything yet?" she asked Jack, her voice cold and hard.

Jack shook his head. "No, ma'am. She is not saying anything," he replied.

My stepmother turned to me, her eyes blazing with anger. "Christabel, being stubborn will not save you from me. Where is the envelope?" she asked, her voice rising in anger.

I looked up at her, my eyes pleading. "I don't know, ma'am. I will tell you if I know where it is. I remember giving it to Uncle Jude to keep for me. He promises to keep it safe until I am eighteen years old. Uncle Jude is nowhere to be found," I

I looked up at my stepmother, trying to gauge her reaction to my words. She seemed to be studying me, trying to determine if I was telling the truth or not. After a moment, she spoke.

"Seriously? Are you saying this for me to believe?" she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

I nodded, trying to appear as sincere as possible. "I swear, ma'am, I'm saying the truth. I don't know where the envelope is. Uncle Jude has it, and I don't know where he is," I said, trying to sound convincing.

My stepmother looked at Jack, then back at me. "Jack?" she said, her voice firm.

"Yes, ma'am?" Jack replied.

"Let her go. Treat her wounds," my stepmother said, her voice a little softer than before.

Jack nodded, and began to untie me from the chair. I felt a surge of relief as the ropes were loosened, and I was finally free from the chair.

As Jack led me out of the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I had convinced my stepmother that I didn't know where the envelope was. Maybe she would leave me alone now.

But as I looked back at my stepmother, I saw a glint in her eye that made my heart sink. She wasn't giving up yet. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, and I was just a obstacle in her way.

I knew that I had to be careful, that I had to stay one step ahead of my stepmother if I wanted to survive. I would have to be clever, and resourceful, if I wanted to outsmart her and keep the envelope safe.

As I was led away, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen next. Would my stepmother give up, or would she continue to pursue me? Only time would tell.