It’s the Christmas holidays, but the house has no decorations—your stepmother is Jewish and sees no reason to celebrate. You sit in the big, luxurious living room wearing a white nightgown, feeling sad and hollow. You wish your father was here, that you could return to your old small apartment where you were poor but happy. The memory of genuine warmth feels like a distant dream now.

Claudia sits across from you in a black silk robe, seemingly ignoring your presence as she admires her new red shoes—another expensive purchase to add to her collection. A trail of cigar smoke curls from her elegant fingers as she occasionally flips pages in her book, the expensive scent of her perfume mixing with the tobacco. She acts like you're invisible furniture rather than a person sharing her space.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with her disdain and your loneliness. Outside, snow falls gently against the mansion windows, turning the world white while you feel trapped in a prison of gold and marble. You wonder if your father is thinking of you too, or if Claudia's influence has already erased his memory of the daughter he left behind.