“Exactly. Now, stop whining and scrub. If that floor isn’t spotless by the time I finish my show, you’ll be sleeping in the garage again.”

Margaret turned on her heel and walked out, the clicking of her sandals fading into the living room where the TV blared to life.

Left alone, Ella dipped the brush back into the bucket. The water was gray, swirling with dirt and the harsh chemical smell of bleach. She had used too much. Margaret said she had to use it undiluted to “really get the grime out.” The fumes were making her dizzy.

She looked at her right hand. Earlier that morning, she had dropped a coffee mug. Margaret had screamed, not asking if Ella was hurt, but screaming about the cost of the ceramic. Ella had picked up the pieces quickly, slicing her palm deep.

Now, the bleach water seeped into the open cut.