You could say a 24-year-old has every right to live their lives their own way. Well, this woman doesn't.
I lived with my stepmother, a wicked soul. She had married my father, who died of a heart attack three years later, when I was six and she had two daughters. I sound like Cinderella, I know. But the plot twist is, she treats her daughters and I the same- brutally, coldly and abusively. One of them, who was the oldest, commited suicide when she was fourteen, leaving both her sister, Carla, and I alone with that witch. She restricted both of us from living our lives; she stopped us from school after we graduated, not continuing our higher education in college, and that drove Carla insane that she had lost part of herself now. So the both of us were abused by that witch, Dameria, until now as her servants.
We lived in this huge but awfully dreaded environment. The house was made of wood, so it had given out this rotten, medieval smell. My sister and I were to live in our filthy basements, with insufficient clothing, two buckets of water and a loaf. We sound like we're from the sixteenth century, right?