It hurts to remember

EVA'S POV

"Well, well, well," Livia had sneered, striding up to the stall. "Look who we have here. Little Eva, playing shopkeeper. How quaint."

I had tried to ignore her, focusing on arranging the fruits neatly. "Just leave us alone, Livia."

"Why should I?" she had replied, her voice dripping with malice. "This is so much fun."

She had reached out and knocked over a basket of apples, sending them rolling across the ground. My foster mom had quickly moved to pick them up, her hands trembling. "Please, miss, don't do that," she had said, her voice soft and pleading. "We're just trying to make a living."

Livia had laughed, a cold, heartless sound. "A living? From this pathetic stall? How sad."

She had grabbed another basket and thrown it to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. I had felt a surge of anger and helplessness, tears stinging my eyes. "Stop it, Livia! This isn’t funny!"

Livia had turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, but it is. Watching you and your 'mommy' scramble