Chapter 3: Family Trouble

LANA

I knew my mom too well. The moment she landed that first slap, I could tell she was gearing up to follow through on her threat to break the landlord's head. That would surely send us into the streets—and straight to the police station.

I stopped in my tracks and sprinted over, my heart pounding with dread.

“I don’t hit women, that—” the landlord was saying when my mom turned around, grabbing a heavy object.

Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and fled. He must have heard the stories about her and her knack for getting into fights.

The neighborhood was terrified of her fiery temper and sharp tongue. People often wondered how my stepfather, Bernardo, had managed to put up with her for all these years. But I knew the answer: he had been completely subdued, his own temper extinguished after realizing that my mom never held back when she went off the rails.

I paused just short of the door, exhaling in relief. But when I caught sight of the object my mom had seized, my stomach dropped. If she caught the landlord, he’d be sporting a few bandages for sure.

“Don’t run! Come back here and fight me! You rented us a dilapidated apartment where my dog can’t even get a decent night’s sleep, and you’re here ranting all day, you bastard! Motherfucker!” she screamed, her voice echoing down the street.

I stood frozen, accustomed to her outbursts. She ranted on and on, but whenever I asked her which dog she was talking about, she would suddenly fall silent.

My mom often says the strangest things, both when she's drunk and sober—sometimes you'd think she was a princess from a far-off castle.

After returning to my bed, I lay my head down and yawned, exhaustion washing over me. I must have drifted off without realizing it.

When I finally woke up, the sky was darkening outside. I stretched my arms, climbed out of bed, splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, and prepared to go job hunting. Now that I had reached legal working age, I was eager to find a well-paying job to help cover our bills.

I headed straight to where I had hidden the money I planned to take with me, but as I rummaged through my handbag, panic set in—I couldn't find a single dollar. 

My heart sank. It was just like my mom to take the money and disappear again, likely off to get drunk. I tugged at my hair in frustration, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment.

Sitting on the floor, I pondered my next move, wishing I hadn’t been born to my mother. The realization that no one cared about me gnawed at my insides, and the facade of concern around me felt painfully thin.

Lost in my thoughts, I heard the creak of the entrance door. I looked up to see Bernardo, my stepfather, stumbling in. He looked disheveled, with bruises on his face, torn clothes, and swollen lips—evidence of yet another of his reckless escapades.

I wasn’t surprised by his appearance; gambling had become his second nature, despite his terrible luck. He often claimed he was destined to strike it rich, but the only jackpot he ever seemed to hit was trouble.

What caught my attention was his furtive behavior—he was peering out the window, glancing around like a mouse avoiding a cat. 

“Dad, you didn’t bring them home, did you?” I asked, a wave of panic washing over me. I couldn’t shake the dread that we were still dealing with the fallout from my mom's earlier antics, and now here was Bernardo, bringing more chaos.

Couldn’t this couple just give me a break?

I was startled when Bernardo ran up to me, gripping my hands tightly, his face a mask of fear. His muscles were tense, and he gasped, "Isabel, I need your help, please! They want to kill me!"

Panic surged through me as a flurry of questions raced in my mind. I struggled to make sense of my stepfather's frantic words.

"Calm down, Dad. Take a deep breath and tell me what's happening," I urged, trying to keep my voice steady.

His face was pale, lips trembling as if he had seen a ghost. His eyes were hollow, and I felt a chill run down my spine. I had never seen him this terrified.

"I went to the casino and got scammed. I owe them ten thousand dollars..."

That single sentence sent shockwaves through me. I leaped to my feet, disbelief washing over my face.

Ten thousand dollars? That was an impossible amount for us. How could he gamble away that much money?

Bernardo's tears flowed freely. "They threatened to kill me and kidnap your mom. They said they'd hurt you if I don't pay them back."

Despair twisted in my gut. I felt like the ground was crumbling beneath me. Where on earth could we possibly find that kind of money? Selling our kidneys? It seemed ludicrous.

I started to zone out, overwhelmed by the gravity of it all. Suddenly, he shook me, pulling me back to reality.

"There’s a way out," he said, urgency in his voice. "The manager said if I can get someone pretty to work for him, he’ll wipe my debt clean. You’re of legal age—why don’t you work for him as a stripper? It’s just dancing at a club. There’s nothing wrong with it!"

My heart raced as I processed what he was asking.

When I first heard the word "stripper," I was completely taken aback. I had never been to a club, never attended a party, and had no formal education. For years, I had been working quietly to support my family, so the idea of stripping was foreign to me.

But I knew we needed money, and I felt I had no choice. 

"Okay, what do we do now?" I asked, feeling tense and confused.

"Now that you've agreed, we should go meet Manager Sam. We need to let him know."

Just as we were discussing our next steps, a loud bang echoed from the door, making my heart race.