She had been up since 5:00 AM. First, it was the laundry—folding sheets that were too big for her arms. Then, it was weeding the garden under the morning sun until her skin turned pink and tender. Now, the floors.

Her stomach gave a hollow, painful growl. She hadn’t eaten since a slice of toast at dawn.

“Can I…” Ella’s voice trembled. She stopped scrubbing for a second, looking up at the woman who loomed over her life like a dark cloud. “Can I please have a drink?”

Margaret set the glass down. The sound was sharp. “Have you finished the square by the fridge?”

Ella looked at the fridge. It was ten feet away. It felt like ten miles. “No, Ma’am.”

“Then you haven’t earned a break. Soldiers don’t take breaks until the mission is done, Ella. Your father is a soldier. Do you think he stops fighting just because he’s thirsty?”

“No, Ma’am.”