Mornings at the Moretti mansion began before dawn, with the muffled sound of hurried footsteps and orders whispered through the hallways. For Alice, each day was a silent battle.
As long as she could remember, she knew she wasn't welcome there. She had grown up hearing the maids whisper about the night she was left on the mansion's doorstep. How she was probably abandoned by her mother, without a name, only with a thin blanket and an antique brooch. She had been found by one of the employees, the only one there who was her friend. The poor gardener had a great affection for her, but this friendship led her stepmother to convince her husband that the gardener had to be dismissed, and as she always got everything, so it was done.
"An unwanted child." That's how her stepmother always referred to her, the venom dripping from every word, but this was nothing new, Isadora hated her with all her might and she made no effort to hide it.
At 20, Alice carried the invisible scars of a life of rejection. Although no one said it directly, she knew she was the daughter of Michael Moretti, the local mafia boss. He never admitted it, but the way he avoided looking at her or how he changed the subject when asked about her said more than any words.
That morning, Alice started her day as she always did, cleaning the main hall before the family woke up. The marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of the chandeliers, and she moved with agility, cleaning every corner.
While setting the table for breakfast, the housekeeper, a stern woman named Leticia, entered the room.
"Hurry up, girl. We don't have all day." Her tone was cold, almost mechanical.
Alice didn't answer, just quickened her pace. Talking too much or too little always got her into trouble, so she learned that staying silent always spared her from punishment, even if her services weren't indispensable, either in the house or outside of it.
Even though Alice had Moretti blood in her veins, she was a mere servant inside and outside the mansion. Michael used her for his business and always made it clear that no one could know who she was; Alice just obeyed, since the only time she tried to run away she spent a week locked in the basement, without food and only a bottle of water. She knew that if she tried again, the punishment would be worse.
When Michael came down to the dining room, Alice was already serving coffee. He cast a quick glance in her direction, as if recognizing something in her, but soon looked away, concentrating on the documents he carried.
It was inevitable, Alice possessed a natural beauty, so much like the woman he had loved, but everything was left behind, his love turned into hatred and resentment, on the same day Alice was left at his door, and Alice paid for it, she was the living memory of abandonment.
"Michael, we need to talk about our princess's party." Her stepmother's voice sounded loud and irritated, interrupting the silence.
Alice remained motionless, trying to make herself invisible. She knew that any mistake, however small, would be used against her, so she left, leaving them alone.
At the end of the day, Alice returned to her room. The room, different from the others, consisted only of a bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table. It was the only place where she could breathe without feeling the judging eyes of her stepmother or the servants.
The space was small, so different from the luxurious mansion, yet Alice was grateful at least to have a roof over her head, even if she hated that place and those people. One day she would achieve her freedom.
She walked to the dressing table and sat down, brushed her reddish-brown hair, and looked at the center. There was the brooch that was left with her when they found her. The silver piece, delicately carved, was the only connection she had to her past. She held it for a moment, studying the details worn by time. Who had placed it on her? Who was her mother? These questions haunted her, especially on lonely nights.
She sighed, placing the brooch in her long hair, before opening one of the old books she had found in the mansion. Reading was her only escape, imagining a simple life outside the walls that made her a prisoner in a way, a life without having to be a hostage to her own father.
Alice closed her eyes and imagined herself in a house facing the sea, the breeze messing up her hair, the air filling her lungs, the saltwater wetting her feet, but it was all just a wish, something Alice was not even close to achieving.
Getting up from the chair, she removed the brooch and prepared to sleep. The next day would be as long as the others.
The next morning, while Alice was cleaning the hallways, she heard her stepmother's hurried footsteps. Before she could avoid it, the woman appeared in front of her, her eyes sparkling with anger.
"You left dust in the main hall." The accusation came without warning.
"I cleaned it, ma'am." Alice replied, keeping her tone calm.
"Are you calling me a liar?" Her voice rose, echoing through the hallway, followed by the sound of a hard slap.
Alice brought her hand to her face, which was surely reddened by the slap. She knew that no matter what she said, her stepmother would always find an excuse to punish her.
"No, ma'am. I'll clean it again." She said, lowering her eyes to avoid direct confrontation.
The woman laughed, a cold, sharp sound.
"That's right. Remember you're here out of charity. You should be grateful."
Alice kept her head down, but inside, she felt anger growing. “Grateful?” she thought, bitterly. Grateful for a life of servitude? For being treated like a mistake? What exactly should I be grateful for?
She clenched her fists, promising herself that one day she would leave there.
That night, Alice went out into the garden, seeking a moment of peace. The stars were hidden by heavy clouds, and the cold wind made the tree branches sway.
She walked to the gate, her eyes fixed on the deserted road beyond the high walls. It was there, at that point, that her life had begun.
"One day, I'll get out of here." She murmured to herself, her voice laden with determination.
Alice knew that her life would not be defined by the rejection or hatred she faced in the mansion. She was stronger than that. And, when the opportunity arose, she would seize it with all her might, even if she was caught again, at least she would have tried. She could endure a week of hunger and thirst, but only if she was caught, and she would try not to be.
As she returned to her room, she felt the weight of her mother's abandonment, like a silent reminder that her past was a mystery to be unraveled, or perhaps it was better to just accept it and move on.
And, in the silence of the mansion, Alice Moretti swore that one day everyone would know who she was and what she was forced to do.
Alice Moretti - 20 years old
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