en among the relics of the past. At least there she was safe, but Tuesdays were like every o

nthly to play cards, drink wine, and gossip. This meant Tiara had to prepare the house, clean the sitti

the ones they used only for company-delicate, expensive, each one painted with a design of golden birds and vines.

puffs, small cakes. Aunt Jola inspected her work and

in invisible-serving drinks when called upon, clearing empty glasses, fading into the ba

ousins who d

~

ase that had grown too wild. They were screaming, laughing, completely oblivious to the

but her attention was on her cards, on t

ack of plates more carefully. But Tobi, running at full speed, didn't see her until it was t

ch plate separate from its neighbor, watched them arc through the air, caught the

hoed through the house, and every co

more terrifying than immediate anger. She walked toward the scene of dest

ly, "that you did not jus

and-" Tiara began, but

sked a simple question: di

ne who knocked into her, that her cousins were at fault. But Tiara had le

aid quietly.

ve any idea what these cost? Do you understand that we are feeding yo

dn't

terruption. Girls like this need constant supervision." Then, turning back to Tiara with her voice lowered: "Clean this up, and then move your thin

nothing to do with where I sleep Aunt Jola", she said very softly. She immed

same space with my daughter, especially at night. What if somet

e world revolves around the

r and he whispered, "Good luck," as if this was a game, as

~

e was very good at hiding now-at keeping her face blank, her emotions contain

sure no one would cut themselves on fragments she'd missed. The work took hours, and by the ti

o on her own, than with force. She was seventeen now meaning she had endured two extra years in this house. Years

kafor had said: One day you'l

ill powerless? What if this was all life had to offer - a

icult. She reached under the mattress where she kept her most precious posse

es. The truth doesn't matter here. Only obedience matters. Only

like to be happy. I'm seventeen and I feel ancient. I'm s

of holding out if this is all it leads to-endl

aming, stop believing that anything better exists. To become what t

ke her. Her diary was usually full of resistance, of future planni

~

, Tiara did something she hadn't done since she was eight years

palms against its bark and let herself cry-not silent tears, bu

d to the tree. "I can't keep pretending

fted. A breeze moved through the branches, and a single lemon fell at he

r had said: Bitterness grows in

s despair. She sucked on it anyway, letting the juice coat her

ss wasn't punishment. It was data. It was information. It was the flavo

nd to her diary. But this time

trong. But because giving up would mean they win. It would mean my parents'

endure it-not because it's right, but because the only alternative is complete

nsform this bitterness into something useful. And one day-I don't know when, but one day-I will leave this place. And whe

lain. I cannot be shattered by their hands.

~

wered questions in monosyllables, and remained invisible. But something ins

neath a loose floorboard. She studied harder and borrowed more books. After all, there was no such thing as too much knowled

ked in the kitchen, she said quietly, "You're different. H

be," Tiar

r agreed. "Yes, I