A violent crash tore me abruptly from the dark abyss of sleep, as if an invisible claw had shaken me with fury. The dry and brutal sound of my bedroom door slamming against the wall resonated with a chilling force in my still-numbed ears. Esperanza's screams, sharp as the edge of a knife and loaded with venomous contempt, drilled into my brain, scattering the last vestiges of rest like shards of glass. "Get up, you useless thing!" Her voice, strident and full of cold fury, bounced off the walls, amplified by the silence of the morning. "Breakfast doesn't make itself! And the house looks like a pigsty, let's see if you start cleaning once and for all!"
I opened my eyes with difficulty, my eyelids heavy and sticky, blinking clumsily to adapt to the cruel daylight that seeped through the narrow slits of the closed curtains. A silent groan escaped my lips as I tried to move, my numb and aching body protesting the simple attempt. I vaguely remembered the cold hardness of the wall against my back; I had fallen asleep there, curled up in an uncomfortable position right next to the door, perhaps seeking an illusion of protection in its solidity. The rough texture of the plaster now felt engraved on my skin, leaving every muscle stiff and sore.
Esperanza's harsh and demanding voice kept resonating in my head, like an annoying echo that refuses to disappear. "Move, you lazybones! I'm not going to repeat things to you!" Each word was an invisible lash, reminding me of my new and humiliating position.
With considerable effort, I got up from the cold floor, feeling a momentary dizziness that clouded my vision. My head throbbed with a dull and constant pain, a reminder of the blow from the night before, and my stomach growled with a sharp emptiness, clamoring for the food I hadn't tasted in hours. But there was no time for regrets, to give in to the pain or the hunger. I had to get going, obey Esperanza's cruel orders before her fury was unleashed on me again.
I sighed deeply, trying to gather the few remaining forces I had, like an exhausted boxer trying to get up from the canvas. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, but the thought of facing my sister's wrath propelled me forward. I can't let them see me like this, I thought with fragile determination. I have to show them that they haven't broken me, that despite everything, I'm still standing. Even though inside I felt as fragile as glass about to shatter into a thousand pieces, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me defeated.
I slowly raised my gaze, fixing my eyes on Esperanza's, trying to project a firmness I didn't feel. I wasn't going to let her see me weak, vulnerable. I sighed again, struggling to control the incandescent rage that boiled inside me, a silent fire fueled by humiliation and injustice. "I'm coming, Esperanza," I managed to say, my voice barely a hoarse whisper. "I'll get changed and come down right away."
An icy laugh, devoid of all warmth, echoed in the room, making me shudder to my core. Esperanza threw a maid's uniform at me, the rough and faded fabric falling at my feet like a tangible insult. "Move," she hissed impatiently, her voice now frivolous and loaded with palpable contempt, as if she enjoyed my degradation. A mocking and cruel smile curved her thin lips. "No one tells you to defend the servant. Now, get to work."
Humiliation struck me with the force of a slap, more painful than the previous one. Not only did I have to perform the tasks that Mrs. Álvarez used to do, but I also had to dress like her, stripping myself of my own identity, forcing me to assume a role of servitude. It's unbelievable everything they're doing to me just for defending an injustice, I thought bitterly, feeling the oppressive weight of their cruelty and my growing powerlessness in this house that now felt like a prison.
I picked up the uniform, the rough fabric between my fingers like an extension of the humiliation I felt, and headed to the bathroom. I closed the door with a dry and resonant thud, a futile attempt to drown out Esperanza's cruel laughter that still floated in the air. I looked at myself in the mirror, and the reflection that stared back at me was that of a complete stranger. Eyes that were once bright now clouded with contained rage, cheeks still flushed with shame and the slap, the uniform hanging inert in my hands like a shroud of my former life.
I'm not going to let them break me, I told myself, my voice barely a trembling whisper that echoed weakly in the small space. With a slow and deliberate movement, I put on the uniform. The fabric grazed my skin with a rough and uncomfortable texture, a constant physical reminder of my degradation. But beneath that humiliating fabric, in the deepest part of my being, my determination burned with a silent but unwavering strength.
I let out a shaky sigh, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to overflow from my eyes. What a 'vacation', I thought with a bitter irony that twisted my stomach. This was not at all what I had imagined when my parents brought me here against my will, under the false promise of a few days of rest. I wondered what my friends would be doing at this moment, far from this oppressive mansion.
The simple thought of my friends gave my heart a painful lurch. I remembered them laughing together, sharing whispered secrets under the sheets, offering each other unconditional support in every little drama of our lives. An abysmal contrast to the deep loneliness and the sharp humiliation that now enveloped me like a shroud.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. The maid's uniform hung from my shoulders with a symbolic heaviness, a constant reminder of my degradation. I didn't recognize myself. The pale and tense girl who stared back at me had dull eyes, a hard expression, sallow skin. At what point had I become this, this silent and resentful shadow?
I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging grooves into the palm of my hand. Rage grew inside me like a dark tide, threatening to overflow. 'I'm not going to let them break me,' I repeated to myself with a newfound firmness. 'I'm not going to allow them to turn me into a shadow of myself.' I had to find a way out of here, to get my life back, my voice. And I would, for myself and for my friends, who were surely waiting for me on the other side of this hell.
I set to work with a cold determination, trying to ignore the oppressive knot in my throat and the constant sting of humiliation in my chest. I quickly combed my hair, smoothing it with abrupt movements, brushed my teeth with a silent fury, and put on the maid's uniform, feeling the rough fabric against my skin as a constant reminder of my new and abject reality. I went down to the kitchen, with the firm decision to fulfill my imposed task and then disappear, make myself invisible.
I prepared breakfast with hands that trembled slightly, struggling not to think about Esperanza's icy and contemptuous gaze. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and toast filled the kitchen, a familiar aroma that paradoxically failed to awaken my appetite. I finished cooking with mechanical efficiency, tidied the kitchen with precise movements, and served breakfast on the dining room table, placing each plate with almost obsessive care.
I had the naive intention of sitting down to breakfast with them, even in a tense and charged silence, just to cling to a small sliver of normalcy. But just as I was about to take a seat at the end of the table, Esperanza stopped me with an icy stare that chilled my blood. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. "Do you actually think you're worthy of sitting at our table?"
My father looked at me with glacial coldness, his dark eyes devoid of all warmth. "Now you eat in the kitchen," he sentenced with implacable authority, "and after eating you continue with your chores. You have no right to sit at this table."
The words hit me with the force of a slap, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt as if the whole world was collapsing around me. Not only were they treating me cruelly for defending someone who was just doing her job, but they had also banished me from my own family, relegating me to a dark and silent corner. Humiliation burned inside me, but with a superhuman effort, I refused to let them see my tears. I turned around intending to go to the kitchen, feeling their cold and accusatory gazes fixed on my back.
I couldn't take two steps before my father's voice stopped me. His tone, although grave as always, had a different quality, a nuance of seriousness that I hadn't heard in a long time. "Josephine," he began, his name pronounced with unusual slowness, "your attitude yesterday was unacceptable."
I stared at him, my heart beating with a mixture of fear and faint hope. I tried to find a glimmer of understanding, of regret in the depths of his dark eyes. "Father, Mrs. Álvarez didn't deserve to be treated that way," I replied in a voice barely above a whisper.
"Things are not as simple as you think," he replied, his voice hardening again, returning to its usual authoritarian tone. "There is an established order that must be respected."
The knot in my throat tightened even more at my father's cold and distant words. My hands trembled slightly, but I forced myself to maintain an appearance of composure. "I understand," I said in a barely audible voice, swallowing my wounded pride, "but I don't agree."
I turned around, feeling their cold stares fixed on my back as I headed to the kitchen, my new assigned place. Hunger gnawed at my empty stomach, but rage and humiliation formed a painful knot in my throat, making me feel unable to swallow. I sat down at the small, secluded table, forcing myself to eat some of the breakfast I had prepared, although every bite tasted like ashes, bitter and flavorless. I had to stay strong, I had to have energy to face the long and humiliating day that awaited me.
I finished eating slowly, placing the plate aside with a barely perceptible noise. Esperanza's gaze followed me from the dining room, cold and watchful, like that of a hawk observing its defenseless prey. "Finished, servant?" she asked with a mocking and cruel smile that showed her white teeth. "Well, get to work. The mansion doesn't clean itself."
I got up with an unnatural stiffness, feeling the symbolic weight of the maid's uniform on my shoulders, an invisible burden of humiliation and resentment. The enormous mansion loomed before me in my mind, an endless labyrinth of rooms and hallways that were now my responsibility to clean. I sighed deeply, trying to gather the few remaining forces I had. 'I'm not going to let them break me,' I repeated silently. 'I'm not going to let them turn me into a shadow of myself.'
With every movement, with every cloth I passed over the furniture, I felt how rage transformed into determination. I wasn't going to let them humiliate me. I was going to show them that they hadn't defeated me. That I was still Josephine, and that I was going to fight for what I believed was right.
As the day wore on, the same things from the previous day repeated themselves, especially my sister's comments after I finished doing the chores of cooking and keeping everything tidy; my mind wouldn't stop racing.
Until finally, again at 8:30 pm, I was free. The mansion shone, and my body demanded rest. I had some dinner, took a shower, put on my pajamas, braided my long hair, and let out a sigh.
I was walking around the room trying to clear my mind when I noticed that on my desk was the diary I had sent to buy the day before. I weighed it in my hand for a moment until I decided to sit down and write in it for the first time.
August 3, 2017
Dear Diary:
If their mission was to break me, if they thought they were going to change the way I am and the way I think, they were wrong. Boy, were they wrong! Today, more than ever, I'm clear about it. I was going to make their lives impossible. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer, of seeing me subdued. From this moment on, I will not show my weaknesses. I will not let them see how much their words, their actions, affect me.
I will become an impregnable fortress. Every insult, every contempt, I will keep deep within me, transforming it into fuel for my rebellion. I will not cry, I will not beg, I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me defeated.
I will clean the house with a smile on my lips, as if nothing mattered to me. I will serve breakfast with my head held high, as if I were an honored guest. Their hateful looks and their derogatory comments will slide off my skin like water off a rock.
I was going to become an enigma to them, a shadow that moves silently through the mansion, observing, learning, waiting for the opportune moment to act. They won't know what I think, what I feel, what I plan. I will be their worst nightmare!
The worse they treat me, the kinder I will be. The more they try to break me, the happier I will appear. I will give them exactly the opposite of what they expect. I will show them that I am better than them, that their cruelty does not define me.
I will become a mirror that reflects their own evil, but with a smile. I will be courtesy personified, kindness at its highest expression. Every sweet word, every considerate gesture, will be a silent slap to their attempt to humiliate me.
I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer. I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me defeated. I will become a fortress of joy, an inexhaustible source of optimism. I will show them that their hatred has no power over me, that my happiness does not depend on their approval.
I will become an example of resistance, a proof that goodness is stronger than evil. I will show them that, despite everything, I am capable of choosing my own attitude, of defining my own reality. And that reality will be one in which I will emerge victorious.
My mantra from today will be: let nothing affect me and let everything slide off me. If they want to see me defeated, humiliated, and shattered, they will not succeed. The worse they treat me, the better I will treat them. I will never show them that their actions or their words affect me.
Tomorrow will be another day. I just have to endure the three months of vacation that we are going to spend here.
Signature Josephine.