"Bella! How many times am I going to wake you? We are waiting for breakfast."

My aunt Martha stood over my bed, an angry scowl on her face. 

"Can't you make breakfast yourselves?"

Martha clutched the pearls on her neck as if I'd insulted her.

"Why would we do such a thing?"

I hated my aunt Martha. 

My mom died when I was 4 years old and my dad left soon after. 

I often dreamed of my mother and her beautiful smile. I looked just like her, I wanted to be a beauty queen like she was. 

Growing up I used to wait by the window waiting for mom to come back and take me far away. But Martha made sure I knew that she was never coming back, neither was my dad.

Martha made me clean and pick after her and her daughter Annabelle. Whenever I complained, she told me I should be grateful that she took me in when nobody else wanted me. When I was younger she'd threaten to put me in a foster home. At the time, I had no idea where that was but it sounded terrible. So I did everything she asked. 

Hi, my name is Bella. It means beautiful. All my life, my aunt Martha told me that I didn't deserve that name.

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