The Beginning of a Fight

My name is Luna. I'm the youngest daughter of the Carpio family.

Today I turn nineteen.

And like every other day, I leave the house late, heading to work, making sure no one sees me. Ever since my stepsister arrived a month ago, everything has turned into a living hell. Before, I only had to dodge my stepmother. Now I have to avoid both of them, as if walking among vipers has become routine.

They're in the living room, as always, sipping tea and talking about marriages like they're bank transactions.

"Mother, I have so many marriage proposals," Estrella says with a triumphant air.

"I'll give you one week. If Fernando doesn't send his proposal by then, you'll marry one of the men who already have," my stepmother replies, in that cold tone of someone who's never known love — only power.

"I'm not about to clear the path for some other woman with Fernando. If I marry someone else, I won't be able to marry him," Estrella says, making it clear that for her, marriage is a trophy.

"That won't happen. You're the most beautiful woman among all the powerful families. The ladies fight to have you in their circles."

"I know. Today at the shoot, the views went up just because they announced I'd be the lead. I've barely been back and everyone's already flocking to me. I'm not going to waste my beauty on someone like Limber. He's a bitter recluse who never leaves his house. The only reason I'd marry him would be so Luna could watch the love of her childhood propose to me... and not to her."

"You were always more beautiful than her," my stepmother declares with that venomous smile I know so well.

"Thank you, Mother. With Fernando, I'll have everything: fame, money, and a man who gives me status. I want people to envy me for having him. If he hasn't married anyone yet, it's because he was waiting for me."

Her words sting. Though I'd never admit it out loud, Limber was more than a neighbor to me. He was my friend, my confidant, my first love. But now he's a powerful man, influenced by his parents... and a far cry from the person I once knew.

I come down the stairs carefully, but there's no avoiding being seen.

"Luna, where are you going?" my stepmother asks, as if my very existence is an inconvenience.

"Just heading out, Stepmother," I reply, keeping my voice flat.

"Look, Mother — the clothes she's wearing," Estrella says with a sneer, eyeing my pants, long-sleeved shirt, and sneakers.

"Go change. You're not leaving my house looking like that," my stepmother orders, as though she still has any moral authority.

"And change into what, exactly? Which of the clothes you've bought me?" I shoot back without flinching.

She stands up, furious, and walks toward me. Her eyes are daggers.

"I tolerate you only because of the love I had for your father. If it were up to me, I'd have thrown you out the first day I set foot in this house."

"Love? Don't kid yourself. It's that... or because I haven't reached the required age yet and my father's will can't be read until I do."

"How insolent! I've given you a roof, food, clothes... and this is how you repay me?"

"What food? What clothes? I work to support myself. I've never depended on you — even though you spend my father's money on your daughter."

She tries to grab my arm, but I pull free before she can get a grip. My skin burns just from her attempted touch.

"Let her go, Mother. She's just in the way here," Estrella adds, as if her opinion matters.

I say nothing. I just walk out without looking back. I follow the path to the double gate at the front of the house. I push it open just enough to slip through, remembering how as a little girl I used to love watching it open automatically. I chose that gate. And now I feel like I don't even have the right to touch it.

It's been exactly one year since my father died of a heart attack. And even though I try not to blame him... I do. He left me alone with these two snakes. I know he's in heaven now, beside my mother, and it hurts to admit it... but I resent him. For leaving me with them. For trusting the wrong person.

I walk several blocks to catch the bus. I get to work late — again, because of them. I slip in through the back door of the club and change quickly: uniform, apron, hair pulled up. I knock on the door of one of the private rooms.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Lulu, your server, and I'll be taking care of you tonight."

Nobody uses their real name here. The clients don't need to know who we are. "Lulu" was the first thing that came to mind the first time I stammered trying to say my real name. And it stuck.

The men order bottles. I write everything down and step out. I pass by the girls who keep the clients company. Some are friends, others are just coworkers. They get called in for parties, celebrations, or important business meetings. I head to the bar, take a deep breath, and go back with the bottles.

I pour the drinks; the girls do their thing. Then I excuse myself and head to the common area — the terraces across the three levels. That's where I work the rest of the night.

When the club closes, the boss calls us in for the end-of-night meeting. We get paid weekly. He hands me an envelope thicker than usual.

"Why is there more money?" I ask, surprised.

"Same client as always left you a tip. Said you took good care of him."

One of the girls gives me a knowing smile.

"Lulu, why don't you switch positions? You'd make more. And if you don't want anyone touching you, just say so. Sleeping with clients isn't mandatory. It's just companionship. You're really pretty — they always ask about you."

"Thanks... but I'm fine where I am," I answer, same as always.

I change and leave in the same clothes I wore that morning. I walk along the sidewalk and, as has become my habit, detour to the park a block from the club. I sit on the same bench as always.

It starts to rain. I don't move. I let the drops soak my clothes, my hair, my soul.

I think about how I used to read "Cinderella" and wonder if anyone could really be that cruel to another woman's daughter. And yes — yes, they can. A year ago, I couldn't take the house anymore. I went out and found a job. Estrella left to study theater abroad on my father's money. I found this job, paid for my last year of high school, and I save every penny for when I turn twenty and the will is finally read. Until then, I can't leave. If I go... they'll take everything.

"Oh, Dad..." I whisper to the sky. "Marrying her was the worst mistake you ever made. And giving your last name to the daughter of my mother's sister was even worse."

You always said you did it because they were a mother and daughter who'd been abandoned, but all you did was complicate my life. You said I needed a mother figure... but I would've rather gone without one.

I remember the day my aunt showed up asking for a place to stay. Her husband had left them. My mother had just died. I was only four... and I still remember her. I thought my aunt could take her place. I was wrong. She'll never be my mother. She never was.

And now, one year after you left, I'm the one who has to endure them. I'm the one waiting to turn twenty so I can reclaim what little you left behind. In the meantime, I hold on to the only thing no one can take from me: my dignity.

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