Chapter 4: Hunger and Hurt

One winter, he saw me being forced by some young staff to crawl like a dog just to get some firewood.

Those rich boys, wearing their fancy school sweaters, laughed as they made me bark and crawl for scraps. My hands ached, my cheeks burned. Jason’s shadow fell across the linoleum, and the room went quiet.

He helped me out, made those guys back off, and left me all the cash he had.

Jason wasn’t a fighter, but his voice carried. The boys scattered, and he handed me some crumpled bills. He muttered that I deserved better, then left quickly.

Actually, I knew him well.

I’d watched him for years, sneaking into tutoring sessions. He always seemed like he belonged somewhere more important.

He was the mayor’s son’s tutor, coming over to teach the mayor’s son and the Third Daughter.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, his car pulled up. He’d walk in with a stack of books, nodding to the staff. Even the surliest doormen respected him.

Everyone called me Silly Maddie, but I wanted to be smarter.

I hated being the butt of every joke. Sometimes I’d pretend I was as clever as the mayor’s son, sitting outside the study, listening through the door.

The blind old laundry woman said reading could make you smart, so I crawled through the dog door to listen to Jason Sanders teach. I’d sit by the wall, hidden, trying to soak up every word.

She’d pat my head and say, “Brains are built, not born.” That kept me sneaking in, hiding behind the curtains to catch every lesson.

He was a great teacher, but I was too slow. After all those lessons, I only remembered one line: “The affairs of the world are but a grand dream; how many autumns has life grown cold?”

The words sounded magical and heavy. I’d whisper them at night, tracing the syllables on the foggy window.

Afraid I’d forget, I wrote the quote inside my warmest hoodie, taking it out to look at when I felt small.

I always meant to ask Jason what it meant.

But not long after, Jason, who used to bring me things, suddenly turned cold.

It was like someone flipped a switch. He stopped saying hi, never looked my way. I didn’t know why.

It happened at a big family dinner. A few rich boys found me in the backyard, probably thinking I was just an ignorant little maid.

They smelled of cologne and expensive sodas, laughing like nothing could touch them. I tried to stay out of sight, but they spotted me.

They held out a plate of cookies and made me recite dirty jokes. One even asked if I wanted to be his housemaid, saying if I followed him, I’d have enough to eat and wear.

I didn’t know what a housemaid was. It just sounded like a job, like Mom always talked about. The way they said it made me uneasy.

But having enough to eat and wear was my biggest dream for over ten years, so I looked at him with shining eyes and asked when he’d take me away.

The boys howled with laughter, but I was serious. Food and a warm bed—what more could anyone want?

Jason must’ve seen this, because he dragged me away, his grip nearly breaking my arm.

His fingers dug into my skin, pulling me behind the hedge. I stumbled, almost tripping.

I struggled, and he threw me off, scolding me angrily.

“You’re the governor’s daughter. How can you degrade yourself like this, clinging to any man you see, eager to throw yourself at his bed?”

His voice thundered. I shrank back, scared of his anger.

“A daughter of this house should look up to the Third Daughter—proud and unyielding, not inferior to anyone.”

His words stung more than any slap. I stared at the grass, wishing I could melt into the dirt.

I was stunned, my face wet with tears, at a loss, not daring to move.

I wiped my face, wishing I could disappear. The kitchen lights in the distance felt impossibly far away.

I didn’t know why Jason was so angry. I just wanted to get by, like Mom always said.

Mom raised me this way, and after she died, I survived the same way.

To me, there was nothing wrong with it.

Especially after the war started, things got even worse, and we did what we had to do.

The lady of the house ordered everyone to be frugal, but it was always the unfavored staff whose rations got cut.

By the time food reached us, there was almost nothing left.

If a favored maid ran short of firewood or anything else, we’d be the ones to go without.

I’d do anything—recite a thousand jokes, sing the anthem backwards—if it meant a hot meal. Pride was a luxury for people who didn’t go to bed hungry.

But Jason’s reaction that day made me wonder if I’d been wrong all along.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept wiping my tears.

Seeing me silent, he left disappointed, shaking his head, and never brought me anything again.

So I kept living as before, curled up in the cold east wing, living cautiously.

Usually teased by the younger staff, I could be happy for hours just to find a piece of meat pie in the dog’s bowl. It sounds silly, but those crumbs felt like hope—like something I could count on.