A Love Worth Fighting For

A Life in Chains Family. What even is family? Does family existence reduce down to simply having two parents? If those conditions define family then I don't have one. Not really. My understanding of what constitutes a real family informs my belief that I don’t have one. I understand what love feels like. And this isn’t it. Although I have parents and a sibling I remain utterly isolated. Completely alone. My father divorced my mother for money. Her pleas echo in my ears as she begged him not to take that action. I remember how he laughed at her while she suffered as if her distress was just a source of amusement. The sound of her weeping while pleading to take me with her remains in my memory. My father pushed my mother away from the house then locked me inside the storeroom without speaking to her. Not out of love. No, never love. He kept me to punish her. He never recognized me as his daughter in his mind. Just something shameful. A burden. He held onto me as a memory of his past error which he could never fully eliminate. My father turned me into his servant as a result of his decision. My father declined my stepmother's request to send me to an orphanage. My father kept me because I served as free labor instead of caring for me. I never heard from my mother again. I stayed hopeful that she might come back to me someday. I frequently envisioned the moment she would arrive through the door to take me from this place. But she never came. It’s unclear whether she will ever come back. Staring at her image, I asked my mother in a soft voice, “Will you ever return?” The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me back to reality. A worker named Mariana popped her head into my office. One of our employees informed me that there’s a lady who wants to speak with me. I quickly wiped my eyes. “Send her into my office.” Mariana nodded and left. After a brief pause an older woman entered the room with a powerful yet inviting presence. I stood, offering a polite smile. “Good evening, ma’am. How can I help you?” She returned the smile. “Good evening, dear. My grandson’s birthday will occur next week and I want a special cake.” “Of course. Choose whatever design you prefer and our team will handle the rest. “No, dear,” she said gently. “I want you to make it yourself.” A request like that was rare. “Alright. When do you need it?” “Next Friday.” I nodded. “I’ll have it delivered that morning. Can I get your address?” She handed me a card. “Thank you, dear.” Once she departed from my office I took a moment to look at the card. Estela Vasconcelos. I put the card in my drawer securely and took a slow breath before exiting my office. My mother once owned this bakery. The bakery closed shortly after she departed. Upon completing my studies my father attempted to force me into his business. I refused. I pleaded with him to give me permission to reopen the shop. For once, he agreed. Since that time I have managed the bakery while working alongside a team of four people. I paused outside to sit on a bench and let the evening breezes soothe my mind. Then my phone rang. I sighed before answering. Catarina yelled into my ear with her high-pitched voice asking, “Where are you, you useless girl?” I told you my daughter would return today. Prepare dinner according to her preferences! Go buy groceries and get home. Now.” Before I could respond to the call it had already ended. I checked the time. 6 p.m. I reentered the shop and made my way toward the kitchen. Mariana looked up. “Need something?” “No, I’m heading home. Close up properly before seven, alright?” “Got it, boss. Don’t worry.” I sent a little smile her way then took my bag before making my exit. The supermarket was only five minutes away so I decided to walk there. As I walked home I saw posters of my stepsister Sofia. A famous model. Despite being only two months younger than me everything revolved around her. She inherited her mother’s appearance and personality yet gained most importantly my father’s affection. My father was formerly employed by Catarina’s deceased husband who established a modeling business. Catarina achieved top model status within the agency. She wed the older man due to financial reasons but quickly remarried after his death at an accident seven years later. My father divorced my mother on the day her husband passed away. He married Catarina the following day. The first husband of Catarina had Sofia as their daughter. My father saw Catarina as his own daughter but viewed me as a blight on his ideal existence. He always ignored my presence, including during my sickness and starvation. I drew in a deep breath before walking into the supermarket. Once I obtained the items I needed I proceeded to pay and requested a taxi to take me home. My father and Catarina were engaged in conversation with his business associate as I entered the building. I paid them no attention and went directly to the kitchen. Catarina mocked with a smirk, “At last the queen of England makes her appearance.” “Didn’t I tell you to hurry up you worthless girl?” I departed immediately after your phone call. “I’m making dinner now. Just leave me alone.” Her face twisted. “You’ve grown a sharp tongue, haven’t you? Just like your cheap, good-for-nothing mother.” I snapped. “Don’t talk about her like that! We both know who the real—” “What did you just say?” I froze. My father’s voice sliced through the room with icy precision. Catarina turned to him, feigning hurt. “Did you hear that, Henrique? She threatened me!” I started to protest but couldn't finish my words— The swift and forceful slap propelled my head to turn abruptly to the side. My father delivered the words with chill detachment: “I should thank my business partners for standing by me.” “Or I’d teach you a proper lesson. Now make dinner.” With that, he walked out. Catarina smirked before following him. I held my fists tightly together to suppress the burning sensation behind my eyes. My mouth remained closed as I promptly returned to the stove to begin cooking. Two hours later, dinner was ready. The maid together with Catarina took the trays outside which left me by myself in the kitchen. I picked up a chilled water bottle before exiting and went directly to my room. I entered my room and closed the door before changing into comfortable clothes and sitting on my bed. The image of my mother rested in my hands as my fingers traced over its worn edges. I kissed the photograph as I always do. I consumed the water in a lengthy gulp before lying down and covering myself with a blanket. Turning off the lights caused the darkness to envelop me completely. A single tear slipped down my cheek. The unanswered question remained in my heart while sleep took me over like every previous night. Do you plan to return to me someday, Mom?