Christmas Nightmare

The snow on Christmas night fell fast and thick. I wrapped my thin coat tighter, but the cold wind still cut like knives into my bones. The takeout box in my hands was heavy, making my arm ache from the strain. My left leg, crippled by muscle atrophy, tingled again; every step felt like walking on cotton. This is the third year since I was cast out of the Fletcher family. Three years ago, I was still Alice Fletcher, the "heiress" the Fletchers cradled in the palm of their hand. It wasn't until the real daughter, Leila Fletcher, was found that my fake identity was exposed. They said I had stolen Leila's life and called me a thief. The rain that day was as cold as today's snow; Mrs. Fletcher threw my luggage out the door, and Jill Fletcher stood beside her, her eyes cold as ice. I thought it was just a brief expulsion—I never imagined that once I left, there would be no way back. My phone's navigation showed the next order was to be delivered deep inside an alley in Old Town. I took a deep breath and dragged my heavy leg as I limped into the alley's mouth. The alley was narrow, its potholes buried under a blanket of snow. Suddenly, my left leg gave out and I fell forward. The takeout box smashed onto the ground, food containers scattered everywhere, steam quickly swept away by the cold wind. My knee struck a stone, the pain piercing deep into my bones. I struggled to get up, but my left leg was completely powerless. "Hey, isn't this the Fletcher Family's heiress?" A hoarse voice rang out above me. I looked up and saw a homeless man in ragged cotton-padded clothes, reeking of sour sweat. His eyes gleamed with greed and lechery, locked onto me. "Get lost..." I yelled with all my might, but my voice was barely more than a mosquito's whine. He crouched down and grabbed my chin with one hand. The rough palms rubbed my skin raw and aching. "Why do you look so miserable now?" He chuckled, "I saw you on TV before—you were so glorious." I tried to pull away, but he held my shoulders tight. Muscle atrophy made my resistance powerless. His hands started groping all over me. I cried out in despair, my voice drowned in the wind and snow. The snow fell heavier, landing on my face, mixing with my tears—cold and biting. I don't know how long passed before the homeless man finished venting and slouched off, cursing. I lay in the snow like a puddle of rotten mud, my body bruised and battered, freezing and aching. Humiliation and despair crashed over me like a tide. Why am I even alive? The thought flickered up, only to be crushed right away. I can't die. At least, I can't just die without a damn reason. Gritting my teeth, I pressed my hands to the ground and crawled forward, inch by inch. My left leg dragged behind, flesh torn raw and bleeding. A long trail of blood stained the snow. I don't know how long I crawled, but finally, I saw the gate of the Fletcher family villa. The door that once opened wide for me now looked unbearably cold. I mustered my last ounce of strength and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Fletcher was the one who opened the door. She frowned when she saw me, her eyes filled with disgust. "Why are you here again?" She stepped back, as if afraid I'd dirty her. "Mom... help me..." I whispered weakly, my voice trembling.