I accidentally published the unedited chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience!

CHAPTER 3

I looked at Stacie, speechless. My tired brain couldn't fully comprehend what she was saying.

"Cancer?" I repeated.

She nodded, her blonde curls bouncing as she did. She had the most beautiful hair. I couldn't believe she was about to lose it all.

"Ash? Aren't you going to say anything?"

I blinked. "Stacie are you sure of what you're saying? Maybe the doctor said something else." She couldn't have cancer; it was inconceivable.

"Yes. The doctor said that I have to go through chemistry."

I laughed, even though the situation at hand didn't call for laughter.

"It's chemotherapy, Stacie. But you're not going to go through it, because you don't have cancer." I nodded firmly, as if wishing it so could make it happen.

"Whatever you say, it's still going to be there. The most we can do right now is make the best of the time we have left," she said wisely. I wondered what had happened to my nine year old sister.

A single teardrop made its way down my pale cheeks, and fell onto Stacie's locks. I blinked the other tears away though. I had to be strong, if only for her.

"Stacie, don't talk like that. People have survived cancer. I'm sure you'll be one of them."

She didn't respond to my statement, she just curled herself up into a ball, and lay down beside me, her eyes fluttering as she fought to keep sleep at bay.

"Good night Ash," she said, as her eyelids closed. The only sound in the room was that of her little snores.

"We're going to fight this, Stacie," I murmured to myself, as I stroked her silky hair. "And we're going to win."

~|~|~

The next day was a Saturday, therefore we didn't have to go to school. I stayed in my room being miserable, partly due to my injuries, but mostly because of the bad news Stacie had delivered yesterday.

A knock on my door distracted me from the book I was reading.

"Who is it?"

"It's Steven, Miss Ashley. May I speak to you, ma'am?" Steven was the head housekeeper; he made sure that every worker in the house did their job well. He was also one of my Dad's most loyal employees, and we didn't usually cross paths, so I was surprised he was knocking at my door.

"Sure, I'll be right there." I pulled a sweater over my pyjamas, and walked to the door.

"Why are you here, Steven?" I asked, not mincing words.

He lifted his nose at me, as if I was below him, and I rolled my eyes discreetly.

"Your father says you should move to his study immediately. He wants to have a word with you."

He looked me up and down. "I think he would appreciate it if you changed first."

I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue at him. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

He nodded and left. I changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt, and headed for my dad's study. When I got there, I knocked.

"Enter," he said, and I opened the door. His desk was bare; all the papers that used to be there had been gathered into a briefcase. He was well dressed in a suit, and his hair was neatly combed back.

"You sent for me, Dad?"

"Yes. I will be leaving for England to finish up some work there. I won't be back for the next two weeks, so I'm giving my orders now. You are going back to school on Monday, no ifs or buts about it. Get some make up to cover that bruise on your cheek, I don't want people asking questions. And work on that limp. Wear something with long sleeves that will cover the stitches on your arms."

"Yes Dad," I muttered.

"And if anyone asks where you have been these past few days, you had a fever. Is that clear?"

"Yes Dad." As if I was going to tell anyone what had really happened.

"And Ashley?"

"Yes Dad?" I unconsciously raised my hopes at the fatherly tone in his voice.

He looked me right and the eye, so close that I could count the number of hairs in his nose.

"If you put some much as one foot wrong, I will make sure you suffer for the rest of your miserable existence. Understood?"

"Yes Dad," I sighed. "I understand." I wondered how this horrible brute of a man could be related to me.

He straightened himself, and adjusted his tie. "Good. You may leave now."

I turned and made to leave without saying anything.

"I didn't hear a thank you," he hissed, his eyes narrowed as he pulled me back by my collar.

"Thank you, Father," I choked out, scratching at my throat as I started to run out of oxygen.

He finally let me go, throwing me onto the floor.
"Leave." I scampered out, dusting my jeans and moving back to my room to continue reading my book, pretending that what had happened never actually took place.

"Miss Ashley, Miss Ashley!" A maid ran up to me, her cap a little out of place, and her cheeks red from the physical exertion.

I stopped and waited for her to catch up with me.

"What do you want?" I asked her, when she was standing by me.

"Madame Dawson says she wants to see you in her room immediately," she said.

I sighed in exasperation. All I wanted to do was to get back to my room. How hard was it for people to leave me alone? I considered pretending that I hadn't gotten the message, that I hadn't heard what the maid had said. But I realised that I'd get her into trouble if I did that, so I headed for my stepmother's room.

My stepmother, Stacy Dawson, was the Wicked Witch of the West reincarnated. She never missed an opportunity to belittle me. She had had three children before she married my dad; Tom and Jerry, who were twins, and Stacie.

It was no secret that she hated me, and took every opportunity possible to make my life a living hell. As for the twins, it seemed that eleven years of breathing the same toxic air as her had had an effect on them. They were just as bad as their mother. Stacie, as aforementioned, was the only member of my family that I could actually get along with, despite looking exactly like her mother.

Take for example, the other day, Stacy had made me scrub the bathroom, all by myself. I'd almost been done, when two devils had appeared in the form of my stepbrothers. They had tracked mud everywhere.

I knocked on Stacy's door, yet received no answer. I tried a few more times, but still heard nothing. Just when I was about to leave, pretty sure the maid had gotten it all wrong, I heard a muffled voice squeak, "Come in."

I tentatively entered, and gasped when I saw the state of the room Stacy and my dad shared. Shards of glass lay on the floor, and a figure lay on the bed. I recognised her as my less than perfect stepmother.

Hesitantly, I edged closer to the bed, not wanting to go too close in case I had chanced upon a crime scene. I heard a loud sob come from the still figure, and I hastily stepped back.

Stacy sat up, and I had to cover my mouth to prevent my scream from escaping it. The usually impeccably dressed woman was now a wasted heap. If Dad had seen here like this, he would have demanded a divorce.

Her face, which was usually tastefully made up, was now a blur of mascara, lip gloss and mucus. Her hair, which never even had a strand of hair out of place, was now a bird's nest. I blinked repeatedly in shock. She called me over.

"Ashley? Ash, is that you?" she asked groggily. In spite of her miserable state, I couldn't bring myself some sympathy for her. She had stood aside and watched as my dad abused me all these years; it wasn't something I could easily forgive.

"It's Ashley to you," I said sharply.

She smiled sadly, and patted a space on the bed next to her.

"And why would I ever want to talk to you?"

"There's a lot we need to talk about." She patted the bed again.

I sighed again, and sat down, too tired to argue.

"Whatever. What do you want to say?"

"It's time I told you my story."