A rush of disbelief hit me, so powerful it was almost physical. I couldn't stand still. I began pacing the length of the room, my anger building with every agitated step.
I stopped abruptly, my arms crossing tightly over my chest, and whirled back toward my father.
"Father, how could you do this?" My voice cracked, thick with outrage and confusion. "How could you possibly decide that dabbling in illegal arms was the solution to all your problems? Dad, why?"
I watched as Leo visibly shrunk under my gaze, his posture caving in on itself in a clear display of shame. He finally lifted his head, meeting my eyes with a flicker of pathetic sincerity.
"Lila, I'm so sorry for this," he mumbled. "I just thought of ways to make our family better. I'm truly sorry."
He had barely finished speaking when my mother, Rose, seized the opportunity to launch a sharp reprimand, not at me, but at him.
"Why are you saying sorry to this irresponsible girl?" Rose demanded, her voice cutting and cold. "It's already enough that we've been feeding and clothing her all these years. Now that you need her help, she's obligated to help. And it's really not like she's going to suffer anyway."
Her words stunned me into silence. For a moment, all the air left the room. My mind flashed back through the last nineteen years of my life in this house.
I had spent my entire existence here serving them and my younger brother, Kai, who was currently seventeen. I was the maid, the cook, the laundress, and the caregiver rolled into one. I handled everything in the house, from the grueling cleaning to the daily cooking and the washing of all their clothes.
I was often so busy with these endless chores that I couldn't even sit down to eat a meal with the rest of the family.
Any minor mistake in my duties was met with my mother's swift fury. Rose never hesitated to hit me or find some other calculated way to make my life a living hell.
Beyond the household servitude, I was also forced to work a part-time job to fund both my schooling and Kai's education. My mother constantly drilled into me the lie that I was the older sister, and it was my job to take care of my younger sibling.
I was underage then, and working was illegal, but I had no choice; her will was absolute law in this house.
When my father returned from work and brought home treats or gifts for Kai and me, Rose inevitably confiscated my portion, either eating it herself or giving it to my brother.
If my father earned extra money and wanted to help me or give me some cash, my mother always refused, arguing that since I was already working—a job she had forced me into—there was no need for my father to give me money.
Now, they stood before me, claiming my father was dealing in illegal arms to better the situation of our family. I was absolutely certain that, in my mother Rose's view, I was not part of that family that needed betterment.
And now, she had the audacity to tell me that I was obligated to marry a dangerous stranger to clear my father's debt because they had supposedly been clothing and feeding me—a monumental lie.
If I were to calculate and compare every penny they had spent on me versus the money and labor I had poured into this family, they would be the ones who were financially indebted to me.
My eyes narrowed into a fierce glare. I turned the full force of my resentment on Rose.
"How can you say that?" I challenged, my voice low and trembling with rage. "Don't you think that you're being utterly shameless?"
My mother's lips curled into a sneer of utter contempt. She ignored my question entirely and turned to my father, using my outburst as a weapon against him.
"See?" Rose said, gesturing dismissively at me. "That's the daughter you've doted on since she was young. Now look at her, glaring down at us and completely unable to help you. I have always told you that this girl was an ingrate, but you never believed me. You see what she's doing now."
I couldn't help but let out a small, bitter sneer of my own. I hadn't expected anything good from my mother; I had completely given up on her. Her words didn't wound me, but when I shifted my focus back to my father, the sight of him struck me like a physical blow.
His lips were turned down in profound sadness, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a look of deep disappointment. I felt a sharp, tearing sensation in my heart.
My father is disappointed in me.
Why? Why would he be disappointed? He knew the truth of my upbringing in this house. He knew the years of servitude and abuse.
That knowledge had always been the one point that broke his heart, the reason he always felt so sorry for me. Yet, here he was, my own father, looking at me with the exact same judgment and disappointment my mother held, as if he truly believed it was my moral obligation to sacrifice myself for his debt.
In that agonizing moment, I felt completely heartbroken. I had never once blamed him for his weakness, for making me endure years of both mental and physical pain. I had never blamed him for being so spineless that he could only stand by and watch his wife systematically torture his own daughter.
I hadn't even become disappointed in him yet, and he was already disappointed in me. All my deep-seated faith in him, all my belief in his inherent goodness, crumbled into dust.
In that shattering instant, I finally saw both my parents for exactly what they were.
But the disappointment would not be the thing that defined my choice. I still carried the weight of the years he had shown me kindness, the few moments when he had been my moral support, the small mercies he had tried to offer despite my mother's oppression.
I would help them one last time, repaying the kindness he had given me, not the debt they claimed I owed. After this, I was done. I would never again entertain any of their unreasonable requests. I was finished with this life.
I forced down the searing sadness and the crushing disappointment. I hardened my resolve.
"Fine," I said, my voice flat, emotionless. "I will help this last time. I will marry that Mr. Dalton for you."
My father's face instantly brightened, a relieved, joyous beam spreading across his features. He kept repeating "Thank you, thank you," over and over, his voice thick with gratitude. But my heart was cold and still. The emotion was gone, replaced by a profound emptiness.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I turned away. I couldn't bear to be around either of them for another moment. I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of their relief and their hypocrisy.
I returned to my room, closing the door quietly behind me. I sank onto the edge of my bed, and the carefully constructed wall of anger I had built finally collapsed. I started to cry, the tears pouring out in silent, agonizing torrents. I wept for myself, for the life I was losing, and for the baffling, unfair reality of my parents.
All through my time in high school, I had watched my classmates interact with their parents, witnessing genuine love and care—a world utterly different from my own.
I had spent countless days silently wondering why my parents were so incredibly different, why they treated me with such coldness and cruelty. Now, I was tired of guessing. I was simply exhausted by the entire, relentless puzzle.
Eventually, the sheer exhaustion overtook me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
When I finally woke, it was to the sound of someone persistently knocking on my door.
I frowned, heavy with the weight of my grief, and stood up to open the door. Standing there was my younger brother, Kai, a familiar scowl already etched onto his face. I was definitely not in the mood to deal with his volatile mood swings.
"What do you want?" I asked, my own frown deepening.
Kai glared back at me, his eyes narrowed with petty resentment. "I heard from Mom that you seem to have grown wings just because you're marrying a great man," he sneered. "I thought, No way. But seeing you now, it really seems that you've grown wings."
I merely rolled my eyes, unwilling to engage in his usual antagonistic banter. "If you don't have anything good to say, I suggest you shut up and go find someone else to disturb. I'm currently not in the mood."
Kai snickered dismissively. "Do you really think I wanted to come here? If it wasn't for the fact that Mom asked me to come call you down to eat dinner, do you think I would even bother to come here to your room? You're not that great, okay."
I stared at him, my mind reeling in shock. Did he just say what I thought he said? Rose, my mother, not only cooked dinner herself but had actually sent Kai to call me down to eat?
I couldn't help but wonder if the sun had risen from the west without my noticing. I simply could not comprehend what was happening.
The usual, rigid practice was this: if I failed to cook meals precisely on time, my mother would storm in, hit me, and then force me to cook the meal anyway. As punishment, I would not be allowed to eat any of the food because I hadn't prepared it promptly, meaning I was forced to go hungry for the day.
I had already prepared myself to go hungry that night, knowing I had failed in my duties.
This—this invitation to dinner—was something utterly unexpected, a deviation from the tyrannical routine that i have gotten used to.