Mariela's heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step a steady drumbeat of disdain. The sound alone made my stomach twist, but it was her voice—cold and cutting—that shattered the last fragile thread of composure I had left.
"Why are you trying to defame your sister?" she demanded.
I clutched my purse tightly, my fingers digging into the soft fabric like it was the only thing keeping me upright. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. The room felt too big, the walls too close, and my voice too small.
"Use your words!" Mariela snapped, her face darkening with fury.
The sudden outburst sent a jolt through me. I inhaled shakily, forcing myself to speak. "I'm not trying to do that. She made me look like a lesser person in front of everyone, and I—"
"Because you are," she cut me off, her words laced with venom.
My throat closed. The ache in my chest flared, but I blinked rapidly, refusing to let a single tear fall.
Mariela stepped closer, the scent of her expensive perfume suffocating me. "Do you honestly believe you are up to par with Selena?"
Before I could answer, Selena's voice chimed in from the staircase behind me, sweet as poison. "It's delusional, really. You embarrass yourself every time."
I swallowed hard. "Mother, I—"
"Don't call me your mother!" Mariela's voice cracked like a whip. "Your slut of a mother is God-knows-where, doing God-knows-what, and her daughter is here, trying to destroy my home!"
Selena's soft laugh sliced through the air, a cruel, delighted sound.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the maids lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, their hushed whispers adding to the humiliation boiling beneath my skin. They weren't just watching—they were waiting for me to break.
Mariela's voice rose, sharp as a blade. "If your father comes back, I'm telling him everything you've been up to since you came back."
My lips trembled. "I'm sorry," I whispered, each word a bitter pill.
Then I turned away, forcing my legs to move, even as I felt their eyes burning into my back. One foot in front of the other, up the long staircase, down the silent hallway. Every step felt heavier than the last.
When I finally reached my room, I closed the door softly behind me, the click of the lock barely audible over the roaring in my ears.
"Hey, little haven," I whispered to myself, leaning against the door for support.
The weight of the evening pressed against my ribs. Arguing would have been pointless—it always was. Mariela didn't want explanations. She wanted submission. So I gave it to her, the way I always did.
I exhaled slowly, pushing off the door, and let my gaze drift across my room—the only place in this house that felt like mine.
The soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp warmed the small desk and the neatly arranged bookshelf. The pale blue curtains shifted gently, the evening breeze slipping through the cracked window. A simple, quiet space. A stark contrast to the opulence beyond my door.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror—an ornate frame with intricate carvings that felt more extravagant than necessary—and paused. My reflection stared back, tired and red-eyed, the weight of Mariela's words etched into the lines around my mouth.
Reaching up, I removed my earrings, my fingers trembling. The necklace followed, each discarded piece of jewelry feeling like I was peeling away the layers of humiliation clinging to my skin.
I gathered my hair into a loose bun and tugged at the zipper of my gown. The fabric slid down my shoulders and pooled around my feet, leaving me in just my bra and pants.
I faced the mirror again, taking in the faint marks where the dress had pressed too tightly against my pale skin. I looked smaller, frailer, like I was trying to disappear.
The cool air bit at my exposed skin, but the thought of showering felt exhausting. Instead, I reached for the throw blanket draped over my bed, wrapping it around myself.
My fingers skimmed the spines of my comic books until they found an old favorite. Something light. Something to make me forget.
Curling up beneath the blanket, I propped the comic book on my knees and let the vibrant illustrations and witty dialogue pull me into another world. A world where the underdogs won. Where the overlooked found their power.
A smile tugged at my lips as I read, a soft gasp escaping when a romantic twist unfolded. Before long, I was giggling quietly at the characters' antics, my cheeks flushing from something other than shame.
But the peace was short-lived.
Mariela's voice floated up from downstairs, loud and dramatic. "She's trying to ruin this family!"
My fingers tightened around the comic book. My heart clenched, but I forced myself to loosen my grip. I wouldn't let her have this moment too.
I reminded myself of a truth I'd long accepted: my father wouldn't come storming up the stairs to reprimand me. He never did. It would take something catastrophic for him to notice me at all.
That ache—the one that came from being invisible—pressed against my ribs again.
As the voices below grew louder, I buried myself deeper in the comic book, willing myself to get lost in the vibrant panels and sharp banter.
Eventually, the noise faded into a distant hum, swallowed by the fictional world in my hands.
By the time I finished my second comic, the weight of exhaustion settled over me. My eyelids drooped, and my head bobbed forward until the book slipped from my fingers, landing softly beside me.
The room fell silent, save for the whisper of the curtains stirring in the night breeze.
I closed my eyes, clinging to the last bit of solace the night had offered, and let sleep finally claim me.