Her Bitter Beginning

Before the Storm They had always been each other’s home. Rita and Raquel—two sisters bound by love, not just by blood. Their story began not in the chaos of betrayal or pain, but in the warmth of shared laughter, whispered dreams, and endless days where the world was just big enough for the two of them. They had lost their father young. The city hadn't been kind. But the sisters—oh, they had been kind to each other. Through the narrow lanes of struggle, over cracked pavements of survival, they held hands like lifelines. Raquel, the gentler of the two, with eyes full of still water and a voice that rarely raised itself, was the heart. And Rita—fierce, bright, loyal in her own turbulent way—was the fire. As little girls, they played under the mango tree in the courtyard of their rented home, turning old buckets into drums and dreams into stories. “I’ll be a teacher when I grow up,” Raquel once said, her tiny arms wrapped around a tattered book. “And I’ll be famous,” Rita declared, dancing wildly in circles. “Maybe an actress! Or a singer! Or… the first girl to fly without wings!” Raquel laughed then, soft and golden. “I’ll be clapping for you from the front row.” They had nothing—but to them, that meant everything. A shared pair of sandals, shared school lunches, shared secrets after lights out. They were poor in money, but rich in each other. Until time began to change them. Raquel stayed the same: quiet, composed, always walking the line between strength and softness. But Rita... Rita had a heart that bled too easily. It opened quickly, hoping, trusting, and more than once—it shattered. She remembered one night, sitting in the bathroom with the light off, her face wet with tears and shame. Another boy. Another betrayal. She clutched her phone, reading the message one more time. “Sorry, Rita. I’m going back to my ex.” He had said he loved her. Swore it. Promised. And like a fool, she had believed. Raquel knocked on the door, her voice barely above a whisper. “Rita, please open. Don’t do this to yourself again.” But Rita stayed silent. Her inner voice whispered: Why is it always me? Why do they never stay? What does she have that I don’t? That night, she made a vow. She wouldn’t beg for love anymore. Next time, she would take it. No matter the cost. End of Prologue.