CHAPTER TWO

"No, I'm not!" I stood my ground as I fought tooth and nail against my father's insistence.

"I'm warning you, Carmen. If you attempt to evade responsibility for this, I will nullify every f'ng provision outlined in the legal documents."

"For the love of God, you know me better than they do! I am f'ng clean!"

"For heaven's sake, Carmen, can't you see? I can't have you here! You brought shame upon us. Upon me. You think it's that easy, don't you? Just throw money at the problem, sweep it under the rug, and pretend it never happened. How many times did I have to buy your silence, Carmen?" His voice trembled with anger and frustration, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if he could control his emotions that way.

"This is insane! You can't just send me away because you assume I’m involved in something illegal! You have no right to control my life like this!" I protested, my voice rising with frustration and emotion. My shoulders curled inward, as if trying to shield myself from the weight of the cruel reality pressing down on me. He ran his hands over his face in exasperation. His brutal honesty, always unyielding, felt like a blow, completely shattering any sense of comfort I had left. Or perhaps, buried beneath the pain, there was a quiet relief at the thought of finally breaking free from this family. I shook my head and let out a trembling sigh, my heart sinking under the weight of it all.

"I can and I will, Carmen! You're leaving tomorrow morning." His voice was firm and left no room for argument, drowning out my protests with his authority. I kept shaking my head, struggling and tired from trying to understand everything. I felt trapped in my own home, like a prisoner, suffocating under his control. When he turned his back on me, it broke me completely, leaving me feeling crushed and hopeless from his decision. I stood quietly in the corner of our poor home, overshadowed by the silence that had grown between us, marking the stark beginning of life under the indifferent gaze of those who should have cherished it most.

Our house sways to the agonizing silence of the night, as the wind's mournful cry ebbs and flows, grazing the surface of calloused skin. It felt as cold as my mother’s room in the hospital. I recalled the moment, the vivid moment where my mother's skin appeared tired of holding in her fragile self. My mother would prop herself up in the bathroom, and watch our life crumbles before her. She looked all sad in her face like it was all her fault. My mother was a saint. I truly mean it. Her fingertips felt like 'Spring' that thawed the 'Snow' of my heart.

My mother would often endlessly muse about her misfortunes. "If only I hadn't given birth to you," was a common itch that slipped past her tongue. At that moment, I was too weak to speak; staying silent was the only comfort I could find. That searing words, definitely feels like a heavy weight on my heart. Her voice digging into my ears was more painful than ever. Longing tinges the edges of her throat, shaping the words that spill forth with a familiar tone of disappointment, while I stay motionless, my weary breaths hidden in the shadows.

And then, she passed away. I was in the throes of the harshest winter of my existence. My cry was silent, yet it pierced my skull. It whizzed around in my head, first in disbelief, then in terror, and eventually in agony. It was the most dreadful day in my entire stupid life, I'm not even sure if there is a word for how distressingly bad it was. I always ask myself when this nightmare will end, wondering how much longer I can bear the endless pain. I often wished that on her deathbed she would utter something profound, something that will stay with me forever. However, we never truly understood the depth of her pain until it was too late, and she was gone, leaving me with regret.

Before the arrival of mourners, my father gathered his beer cans and stashed them beneath the back porch. My mother’s relatives went to town to buy a coffin, while he remained seated quietly, his feet planted on the floor, his eyes red but tearless. When someone leaned in to speak, he would touch their shoulder, acting as the family patriarch, but now subdued, my mother has finally silenced him.

Glory, prestige, and affluence, such obscene things are nothing but shadows. At a tender age, I figure my older siblings made out pretty well away from the chaos that seemed to engulf the rest of our dysfunctional family, leaving me to endure it all on my own.

Demetrio, the first born, strived for validation along with his excellence in school. Shortly afterward, he established the benchmark and consistently excelled in the family businesses. There wasn't a single mistake that would bring shame to our parents. Yet, as expected, they were never satisfied with the results. No matter how hard we tried, it was never enough for them. Their expectations always loomed over us, and their discontent grew. Eventually, he grew tired and left for good. Despite all the efforts, nothing seemed to change, and I was left to face the consequences of their disappointment alone, knowing that their approval would never come, and that the silence between us would only continue to grow.

As well as Ludovico, he disappeared without a trace, with no means of contact or any information left behind. While I was still hoping for someone to turn to. I owned little to nothing. Now, my father was skeptical of my involvements and private scandals owing to his beliefs that a Ghilarducci—Bloom ought not to be renowned in that manner. Our lineage must remain a privilege and impenetrable. Although I take pleasure in being the object of admiration for everything I do, I constantly pray and would trade my entirety for a new life. However, this is still not enough. Suddenly, I was in a world where none of that was ever going to happen. And I was going to be trapped in Hell's Kitchen indefinitely.