3. FLASHBACK

With my head resting on the steering wheel, I cry until a memory comes to mind, as if God had enlightened me. I remember the apartment my grandfather gave me in the city center many years ago, I think when I turned sixteen; it was my birthday present. I remember it as if it were yesterday: he took me secretly from home and led me there with such mystery to give it to me. "Nobody knows about its existence, just you and me," he told me.

The happiness that fills me is enormous. I search through my purse and find the address and, on my keyring, the key that opens it. I look up the location on my phone, which immediately plots the route; it's not that far. I drive there. Upon arrival, I have to show my ID at the entrance because the doorman is new and doesn't know me. Well, I suppose the previous one wouldn't have known me either; I only came that one time when Grandfather brought me. I could never come back because they wouldn't let me out.

The doorman keeps glancing at me. I've let my hair down, trying to hide my bruised and aching face. He finally lets me pass.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Miss Sardino," he says, bending down to hand me my ID, I think trying to get a better look at me. "It's routine, since you don't come often I don't know you, but your grandfather comes frequently. How is he and his wife?"

"Fine, thank you, thank you very much," I reply without raising my head, letting my hair cover my entire face. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go in now."

"Oh yes, sorry, sorry!" And he rushes to raise the entrance barrier.

"Good night and thank you very much."

Without further ado, I start the car, doing everything possible to hide my bruises. He keeps watching me intently; apparently, he noticed something was wrong. I hope he doesn't alert my grandfather. I don't want him getting into trouble because of me. I should never have married Luis! How could I think he had really stopped being abusive and would treat me well if I let him do whatever he wanted? Oh, Isabella, you should have known something like this would happen.

"Good night! If you need any help, just call. Remember your parking spot is number two on the left!" he shouts as I drive away.

I advance slowly until I find it. I gather my things and head to the building. I take out my key, afraid it won't work; it's been so long since grandfather gave it to me that I'm not sure if it will. I breathe a sigh of relief when it opens the entrance door. I take the elevator to the fifth floor.

Finally, I'm standing in front of the number on my card. I open the door without turning on the lights. I throw myself onto the sofa in the darkness. I can't stop crying. Why do these things have to happen to me? I should have listened to my grandfather and escaped with him on my wedding day! How could I let my parents marry me off to that heartless Luis? I close my eyes and my life begins to flash before me like a movie.

Flashback.

One year earlier...

I walk trying to go unnoticed; I know that right now I'm my mother's shame, and she never tires of telling me so while giving me murderous looks. Dad says nothing, just looks at me reproachfully. I lower my head as I feel people around me examining me. We finally reach our reserved table, very elegantly set.

"Isabella, come, sit here!" my mother indicates harshly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head with a look of disgust on her heavily made-up face. "Sit up straight! Why did you have to wear those clothes? You don't look nineteen! I don't know who you take after, being such a prude—certainly not me. You should have worn the dress I bought you!"

"Sorry, Mom," I say almost in a whisper to prevent others from hearing us, "but the dress you gave me was too short."

"That's the one you should have worn! Not these old-fashioned prude clothes your grandmother gave you as if you were ten years old. Whoever heard of a young lady from a good family dressed like you are? You're a disgrace!"

She shouts while trying to disguise her annoyance. The people nearest to us look at her and then at me, as I shrink into myself in my attempt to become invisible. I sit in my chair and lower my head, wishing I couldn't hear her anymore, which is impossible given the tone she uses as she leans toward me.

"I don't know how I could have had a daughter like her: she doesn't know how to dress, doesn't know how to present herself. Look at that hair! Couldn't you have done even that better? Why didn't you put on makeup? I should have made sure you prepared properly. What a shame, what a shame!"

"Eva, enough! Getting upset won't help. Calm down, our guests are about to arrive!" my father intervened, glancing at me.

That morning, my mother had burst into my room with a bag. She threw it on the bed while saying:

"Isabella, we're having dinner tonight with some of your father's friends, and you're coming with us. Put these clothes on. I don't want you embarrassing us with those nun's clothes you usually wear!"

"But Mom, can't I stay home? I have very important exams tomorrow!" I protested, trying to avoid being forced to go. I hate these gatherings!

"No, Isabella, they're potential investors for your father's company, and you must attend. Besides, everything depends on you going well. Don't protest because you're not staying home; you have to go, it's very important," she finished in a tone that made it clear the conversation was over and I couldn't object.

"All right, Mom," I accepted resignedly, picking up the bag she had left on the bed.