I cleaned the floors today. They gave me a bucket and a brush, and I scrubbed until my knees ached and the water was grey. It's strange. It's the first thing I've done in days that didn't make me feel... dirty. No one watched me. No one touched me. I just made something clean. For a little while, I forgot to be afraid. I forgot the feel of his hands. I just smelled soap and saw the shine on the tiles. Then the fear came back, worse, because I remembered what happens when things are quiet. What he did in the quiet. But for those minutes... there was just the brush, the water, and me. Not his daughter. Not a slave. Just a girl cleaning a floor. I wish I could stay in that feeling.