Saeles woke to the sound of metal hitting metal.
Her mother was in the kitchen, slamming pans around with enough force to make the walls shudder. It wasn't cooking—she rarely cooked. It was anger. It was always anger.
Saeles pushed herself off the floor, her muscles stiff and burning. Her cheek throbbed where her mother had hit her yesterday, but she didn't touch it. Touching wounds meant acknowledging them, and acknowledging them meant remembering, and remembering was dangerous.
She quietly walked toward the kitchen doorway, stopping just before entering. She waited—because stepping in without permission could result in a fist to the ribs.
Her mother turned, eyes sharp, movements twitching with impatience.
"What are you standing there for?" she snapped. "Get in."
Saeles stepped inside.
A single bowl of plain rice sat on the table. Her mother stood by the counter with a bottle of cheap alcohol in her hand. She wasn't drinking yet, but the way she gripped it made her knuckles go white.
"Eat," she ordered.
Saeles sat down and took one small bite. She'd learned to eat slowly—too fast, and her mother accused her of greed; too slow, and she accused her of laziness. She found a rhythm somewhere in between.
Her mother stared at her, eyes unfocused, face stiff with something deeper than anger.
"Do you remember your father?" she suddenly asked.
Saeles froze mid-chew.
She had never asked about him. She had learned quickly that some topics were landmines.
Her mother leaned closer.
"Do you?"
Saeles swallowed. "No," she whispered.
Her mother gave a sharp, humorless laugh.
"Of course you don't. He didn't stay long enough for you to remember anything."
This was new.
Her mother rarely mentioned him.
The woman took a drink straight from the bottle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"That useless man left the day you were born," she said bitterly. "Walked out with some… some woman who thought she could give him money. A better life."
She slammed the bottle on the counter so hard Saeles flinched.
"He left me with nothing. Not even clothes for you. Not even a name for you."
She poured another swallow of alcohol down her throat.
"Do you know what it's like to hold a baby while the man who made her walks away without looking back?" she hissed.
Saeles lowered her gaze. She didn't know. But she knew better than to say so out loud.
Her mother paced the kitchen like a caged animal—back and forth, back and forth—her voice rising with every step.
"I trained for twenty years," she said. "Twenty. I bled and broke myself to be the best. Do you know what they told me?"
She didn't wait for Saeles to answer.
"They laughed. They told me I wasn't good enough. That I'd wasted my life. That I didn't deserve the ring." She spat the words like poison. "I'll never forget it. Not one damn word."
Saeles felt a familiar coldness settle in her stomach. Her mother always spiraled like this before she became dangerous.
"And then your father left." Her voice cracked in a way that scared Saeles more than yelling. "As if losing my dream wasn't enough, he left me with a child I never asked for."
Saeles froze.
Her pulse thudded in her ears.
Her mother turned toward her slowly, eyes glassy, smile crooked and frightening.
"But I'll make one good thing out of this disaster." Her voice dropped to a low, dark tone. "I'll make you into something worth being abandoned for."
Saeles didn't know what that meant, but she understood the warning beneath it.
Her mother grabbed her by the wrist—hard—and lifted her arm.
"Your bones are too soft," she muttered. "Your form is sloppy. You need to train harder. Harder than I ever did."
Her grip tightened until Saeles winced.
"You'll become what I was meant to be. You will fix everything I lost."
Saeles nodded quickly. She knew what would happen if she didn't.
Her mother let go abruptly, and Saeles's arm fell back to her side, throbbing.
"Finish eating," her mother said coldly. "Training starts again in ten minutes."
Saeles didn't answer. She simply took another small bite of rice, her hand trembling slightly.
Her mother stormed out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of tension behind her.
Saeles didn't breathe until the door clicked shut.
She had never known her father.
She had never seen his face.
She had never heard his voice.
But in that moment, she imagined him walking away with a stranger, leaving a newborn behind in a dark house with a woman who would one day break her in every way possible.
She didn't know if he was cruel or just a coward.
But she knew one thing:
He never came back.
And Saeles had learned to live without imagining he ever would.