Poland, 2005
She felt powerless. Disappointment clouded her eyes as she watched her father throw her clothes out of the closet without restraint. Garments flew across the room, landing in chaotic piles around the red suitcase he had brought moments before for her to pack. He wasn't going to do it himself. Instead, his rage boiled over as he tried to force her to leave on her own.
The teenager was hurt—hurt that her father didn't believe her, even though she desperately tried to explain that she had nothing to do with stealing the money. But he was stubbornly blinded by his fiancée and her daughter, Victoria, who played the angel while hiding a devil beneath. Only Sara knew the truth about Victoria's dark side. Since moving in, Victoria had made her life miserable. Every time something went wrong, Victoria blamed Sara, and her father believed her.
Victoria pretended to be sweet and innocent in front of adults, which was why everyone adored her.
The truth was that Sara was the good child. But a mistake from the past had shattered her father's trust. She had never been assertive, making it hard for her to navigate the hostile environment. People took advantage of her naivety, and certain girls made her their scapegoat. She couldn't defend herself. She was young, scared, and obedient—forced into silence when the bullying turned threatening.
They knew her father was wealthy and exploited that fact, demanding money from her at school every day. At first, no one suspected her. The housekeeper was blamed instead. Eventually, the truth surfaced, but Sara never admitted why she had done it. She was too scared to expose the bullies, so she took all the blame herself. It was the worst time of her life—and from then on, her father looked at her like a criminal. She felt ashamed, just like now.
"Stop staring at me with that pitiful look," he said, anger burning in his eyes. "I've made up my mind. I've had enough of your behavior. You promised never to do it again, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Thievery can't be cured, especially when money is still at hand. I'm done, Sara."
When she had stolen the first time, he had been more disappointed than angry. Now, he looked like he wanted to strike his own daughter—even though she was innocent.
"I found the perfect place for you," he continued. "It's a center for troubled youth. I've heard many good things about it. Kids who leave there change dramatically. It's connected to a school, so don't think I'm kicking you out. I'm investing a lot in you. You'll be grateful one day."
Sara wiped tears from her cheeks.
"Pack your bags. In half an hour, I want to see you ready."
"Dad, please—I haven't done anything wrong," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"If you think stealing from your own father is nothing wrong, then you're worse off than I thought," he said coldly, measuring her with hard eyes. "End of discussion. I'm sending you to that center so you can come to your senses. I won't have a criminal in my house. This is where it starts."
"But—" she tried to defend herself, but he already turned and left the room.
She crouched on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, then slowly began gathering the scattered clothes. She folded them carefully and packed them into the suitcase. When she finished, she closed it and sat beside the bed, speechless. She had to accept her father's decision, even if it felt like he was trying to get rid of her. Now that he had a new family, she was a burden he wanted gone.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Victoria appeared in the doorway. She stepped inside, smiling slyly.
Sara felt a surge of anger, an urge to punch her, but she wasn't the type to solve problems with violence.
"Our poor, innocent Sara," Victoria said with false sympathy. "Even your own father doesn't believe you. It must hurt, right? To know he wants to throw you out and start over with a new family. So cruel and unfair," she added with a mocking smile. "But true."
She walked over to the window and leaned against the sill. Her fingers plucked a flower from the vase.
"I've always liked this room. I'll be happy to take care of it while you're gone, sister."
Sara pressed her lips tightly shut and closed her eyes, trying to block out the words.
"I found out your mother picked the decor—that's why it's still so childish. Pink elephant wallpaper at seventeen? Ridiculous. Grow up, Sara. Life goes on," Victoria said with scorn.
She strutted around the room and looked down at Sara.
"Stop pretending to be a lady. Before your mother met my father, you were nothing," she whispered.
Victoria's dyed blonde hair caught the light as she stopped mid-step, narrowing her eyes in anger. She stared carefully at Sara for a moment, then kicked her in the leg.
Her mischievous smile grew wider.
"In life, you have to be cunning. That's what I learned from my mother." She paused, then continued with cruel delight. "And what did you learn from yours? Oh right—nothing. She died before you even finished kindergarten. How sad," she giggled.
Sara snapped. Though she had never raised a hand against a man, she couldn't let this idiot mock her mother.
She stood, walked up to Victoria, and grabbed a fistful of her hair. The blonde screamed, shocked by the sudden attack. Sara couldn't fight back, so she just pulled.
For the first time, she didn't regret her decision. Victoria deserved much worse.
Their parents rushed into the room. Their father yanked Sara away and tried to calm her, but when that failed, he slapped her. For the first time in her life, he raised his hand against her.
The stunned teenager rubbed the burning cheek as Victoria clung to her mother, pretending to cry.
Sara realized then that any place would be better than this. This was no longer her home—not the home she had known and grown up in.
"Get your things. I'll see you in the car in a minute," her father said, leading Victoria and his fiancée out of the room.
Seventeen years old and tearful, Sara took her suitcase and obeyed. Before closing the door, she glanced around the room one last time, imprinting its image on her mind. She knew that when she returned, everything would be different.
*
She stared blankly out the window, feeling tears well up in her eyes. The pain of how her father had treated her cut deep. He had believed a stranger over his own daughter. Even if she had stolen the money, she was still his child — and he should have forgiven her. Why had he immediately decided to send her away to that center? She couldn't shake the feeling that he had been planning to get rid of her for a long time.
She was an unnecessary burden to him now. Apparently, she no longer mattered.
"Stop sulking, it's for your own good," he finally broke the silence that had settled over the car.
Sara ignored him. With a quick flick of her hand, she wiped away a solitary tear that slid down her cheek.
"Sara…" he said again, but she didn't respond.
She reached into her purse, pulled out her headphones, and slipped them into her ears. She played her favorite song on her phone, leaned back comfortably in the seat, and closed her eyes to the soothing melody. He seemed eager to reach their destination as quickly as possible. She had no desire to share the same room with him. He had hurt her, and her resentment burned quietly beneath the surface.
When she opened her eyes, she saw her father turn the car onto a forest road. A chill ran down her spine. She hated this kind of place. As a child, she had gotten lost in the woods, and the fear still lingered.
Her eyes widened when a massive gate appeared at the end of the road. It looked like the entrance to a prison for dangerous criminals.
She looked at her father, stunned, as he stopped the car and stepped out. She hesitated, then followed him to the gate. He pressed a button and spoke briefly to someone. Without even glancing at her, he returned to the car.
The gate creaked open, and they drove into a courtyard surrounded by towering trees. The place was dark and gloomy, sending a shiver down her spine.
She poked her head out the window, swallowing hard as she took in the sight of the building. It was old, cold, and intimidating — perfect for a horror movie set. At first glance, it resembled an ancient castle: two stories high with small towers on either side.
"I think this is a joke," she said, voice trembling. "Dad, do you really want to leave me here?"
He glanced in the rearview mirror but said nothing.
She understood. That was her answer.
They stepped out of the car, and an old man appeared from the building. Despite her reluctance, Sara greeted him quietly, and he returned a faint smile.
Turning her head, she pretended to study the surroundings. Meanwhile, her father began discussing her situation with the old man. Slowly, Sara took a few steps back to observe the building more closely.
Suddenly, she bumped into something with her back. Startled, she turned around to find a tall, handsome boy looking at her with clear curiosity.
"Sorry," she whispered, embarrassed.
He smiled and pointed to her hair.
"It's beautiful," he said. "But here, you won't have much time—or the desire—to care for it anymore."
Sara blinked, surprised.
"This place doesn't just look like a prison; the first days are nightmarish. Judging by your frightened eyes, I'm not sure you'll manage. People here aren't kind, so watch yourself," he warned, adjusting his baseball cap.
She glanced shyly at him.
"I'm Matthew. If you ever need anything, come find me."
*
Sara followed the director down a long corridor, her footsteps echoing in the sterile silence. She felt the curious, hostile stares of the people she passed. Their faces were hard, their eyes cold. She caught snippets of malicious whispers and cruel remarks that made her skin crawl. For the first time, she really saw what kind of people lived here. At a glance, they all seemed rude and spiteful.
The boy from earlier had been right. She didn't belong in this place. Her gentle nature clashed with the harshness surrounding her.
They reached the principal's office, a spacious room that smelled faintly of old books and polish. Sara's eyes roamed the walls until they landed on a black-and-white photograph hanging above the desk. It showed a young man, probably the director decades ago. Now, he must be in his eighties. She wondered why he hadn't retired yet. Did he still have the strength to deal with rebellious teenagers? Admirable, she thought.
"Here is the layout of the building," the director said, handing her a sheet of paper. "It shows all the rooms, including yours. I advise you to familiarize yourself with it."
Sara nodded silently, her fingers tracing the lines on the paper.
"Independence is a must," he added. "You'll have to find your own way to your room."
She nodded again.
"And here's the timetable. School activities run Monday through Friday. Weekends are for mandatory sessions with the psychologist. That's all from me."
She thanked him and left the office, eyes fixed on the map. After a moment's hesitation, she headed for the second floor, dragging her heavy suitcase behind her. She wanted to prove she could manage on her own.
But then, her grip slipped. With a horrified gasp, she watched the suitcase slide down the stairs, bursting open and spilling her clothes onto the floor. Laughter erupted from the passing students, and her cheeks flushed deep crimson.
Before she could scramble to pick everything up, someone crouched down beside the scattered clothes. She looked up and saw a tall, dark-complexioned boy with black eyes. He started gathering her things quietly.
Sara was by his side in an instant. He looked at her with a stony expression. In his hand was a delicate, lacy undergarment.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he just raised one eyebrow and said nothing.
Flustered, she snatched the panties from his hand and stuffed them at the bottom of her suitcase.
"Oliver, I've been looking for you everywhere," a familiar voice called behind her.
Sara turned to see Matthew—the boy who had warned her about the harshness of this place earlier. He smiled brightly and pointed at her.
"Oh, we meet again."
His eyes flicked to the clothes scattered on the stairs.
"Oliver, what did you do to her?"
"She did it herself. I just tried to help," Oliver replied, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Though I'm not sure that was a great idea," he added, nodding toward the underwear.
Matthew scoffed. "How can you just leave her with this mess? Don't be such a pig, Oliver."
"I'm out of here," Oliver muttered, then disappeared up the stairs, stepping carefully around the clothes.
Matthew shook his head, then gathered the scattered clothes and handed them back to Sara.
"Thank you," she said shyly, closing her suitcase. She reached to pick it up, but Matthew stopped her.
"You'd better not have to pick all this up again," he said with a grin. "Let me help."
Sara nodded, grateful but uncertain.
Nearby, a group of girls standing by a column watched with narrowed eyes, whispering spiteful comments. Sara sensed their displeasure that Matthew, the handsome newcomer, was helping her on her very first day.
"Matthew, what exactly are you doing?" one of them sneered, but he didn't look their way.
"I'm helping a new colleague," he replied coolly. "If you have a problem with your eyesight, see an ophthalmologist. Especially since last time you mistook another guy for me."
The girls exchanged confused glances, smoothing their hair awkwardly.
Sara followed Matthew down the hall. "Thanks for your help," she murmured.
He smiled cheerfully and walked away.
It was then that she realized—not everyone here was as horrible as she'd first thought.