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BAD DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 1
The ethereal glow of morning light spilled into her room, painting everything in hues of gold and warmth. Sophie stretched her body as her eyelids fluttered open. Each muscle unfurled like a budding flower greeting the dawn.
A rhythmic chopping sound echoed from the kitchen.The tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked food wafted into her room, tickling her senses, pulling her out of bed with an invisible string. Sophie sniffed in the aroma.
"Wow, she doesn't cease to amaze me," Sophie murmured to herself.
A sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't help but notice a strained muscle protesting against the morning's tranquility. She massaged her shoulder, her fingers kneading the stiffness that had settled there.
With a soft grunt, She pushed herself off the bed. Her feet finding purchase on the cold concrete floor. The chill was a jolt. A sharp contrast to the warmth of her bed.
Stepping into the living room, she couldn't help but notice the new arrangements. When was these changes made? She wondered. The three couches with worn fabric from years of use, huddled together in a cozy arrangement beside the wall.
An old TV set sat in the corner, its dark screen reflects the sparse room. It was an artifact from a different era. On the wall above it, a photograph of Mrs. Emily was proudly displayed. The edges of the photo were faded. Her gaze lingered on the photograph.
She tiptoed towards the kitchen door.
"Good Morning," she managed to get out between a yawn, the words still heavy with sleep.
Mrs. Emily, a woman whose face bore the beautiful etchings of time and wisdom, turned to look at Sophie. Her warm eyes twinkled with an unspoken secret.
"I'm glad you didn't actually lose your memory," she said, with a soft lilt of amusement as she turned back to her task.
...
The ethereal glow of morning light spilled into her room, painting everything in hues of gold and warmth. Sophie stretched her body as her eyelids fluttered open. Each muscle unfurled like a budding flower greeting the dawn.
A rhythmic chopping sound echoed from the kitchen.The tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked food wafted into her room, tickling her senses, pulling her out of bed with an invisible string. Sophie sniffed in the aroma.
"Wow, she doesn't cease to amaze me," Sophie murmured to herself.
A sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't help but notice a strained muscle protesting against the morning's tranquility. She massaged her shoulder, her fingers kneading the stiffness that had settled there.
With a soft grunt, She pushed herself off the bed. Her feet finding purchase on the cold concrete floor. The chill was a jolt. A sharp contrast to the warmth of her bed.
Stepping into the living room, she couldn't help but notice the new arrangements. When was these changes made? She wondered. The three couches with worn fabric from years of use, huddled together in a cozy arrangement beside the wall.
An old TV set sat in the corner, its dark screen reflects the sparse room. It was an artifact from a different era. On the wall above it, a photograph of Mrs. Emily was proudly displayed. The edges of the photo were faded. Her gaze lingered on the photograph.
She tiptoed towards the kitchen door.
"Good Morning," she managed to get out between a yawn, the words still heavy with sleep.
Mrs. Emily, a woman whose face bore the beautiful etchings of time and wisdom, turned to look at Sophie. Her warm eyes twinkled with an unspoken secret.
"I'm glad you didn't actually lose your memory," she said, with a soft lilt of amusement as she turned back to her task.
...
