Episode 3

I avoid looking him in the face. I don't want him to read my eyes, nor to discover how broken I am inside. I just sigh with resignation.

"Do you excuse us? I'll take my daughter to her room," says my stepmother with a kind smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I didn't know you had two daughters," comments Mr. Linares, with that voice of his that always sounds as if he were judging everything he sees. And it angers me. It makes my blood boil that they talk about me as if I weren't present, as if my life were an irrelevant fact.

"She doesn't have them," I reply without looking at them, my voice firm. "I am her stepdaughter."

Without further ado, they return to the living room, laughing at some stupid comment from Estrella. I go up with my stepmother to my room. I sit on the bed, still wet, still trembling. She stands, as if she is disgusted to even approach. She throws me the keys. I catch them and put them away without looking at her.

"Don't ruin this for your sister. Do you think your father would have allowed it?"

Upon hearing this, I bristle. I feel a void, a pang in my chest.

"Don't even mention it. If he were alive... believe me, I would be the one in one of the best schools. Not Estrella."

She crosses her arms, feigning calm.

"Is that what angers you? You don't have to claim anything from me. Your father was the one who froze everything until the reading of the will. We only have this house."

"Don't come to me with that. Working, you live as if you were millionaires. You hired an employee just to pretend."

"It's so Mr. Linares thinks we have money. All that is with my savings. Soon we won't even have anything to eat. That's why I want Estrella to get married. And if she succeeds... maybe we'll leave this house for you alone."

I fall silent, processing that last sentence.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. But don't ruin anything."

She sighs. And for a moment, in her eyes, there's something that disturbs me. Pity? Remorse?

"You look so much like her... your mother."

And then I understand everything. I clench the keys in my hands.

"It must have been horrible for you," I say, "to see me every day and remember that my father loved someone else. The woman you never were."

She remains motionless, her lips parted.

"If you ever wondered why I hate you so much... there's your answer," she says, turning to leave.

I already knew. I always knew. But hearing her say it aloud is like receiving a slap with a truth that burns.

When she leaves, I am silent. My books are lying on the floor. I pick them up carefully, but it no longer makes sense. Nothing makes sense. I close the door and put a chair to lock it. Even so, I don't sleep well. I feel vulnerable. Exposed. Watched.

The next morning, the house is silent. As always.

I walk more than usual to take a cheaper bus. I want to save more. I need to get out of here. My backpack weighs, but what weighs the most is the uncertainty of my future.

I arrive at high school. At recess, I take out a plate of steamed vegetables. The others eat as if they had no worries. Some play like children, others kiss in dark corners. A group has a table full like a buffet. I sit in a corner, with my cheap topper. I eat without looking at anyone. Without speaking. Invisible.

I finish eating. I put everything away. I put on my headphones, but no music plays. I just need silence. I walk towards the nightclub.

I change in the dressing rooms, like every day. I put on the clothes that hide my true self and reveal the character of Lulu. I start working. At least, Mr. Linares didn't report me. If he had, I would already be on the street.

Then they call me to one of the most exclusive lounges. A private lounge. Upon entering, something tells me that this place is not like the others.

The light is dim. There's a dense, uncomfortable silence. Three men are in the room. One smokes. Another checks his cell phone. The third... doesn't move.

I ask what they want to drink. I write down their orders quickly.

"Do you need company?" I ask, as protocol dictates.

"No," replies one, with an authoritative voice.

It's him. The one in the corner. I don't see him well, but his presence imposes. I feel my skin crawl.

I leave to prepare the drinks. My hands tremble. Something tells me that I must be careful. He's one of those clients who, if he gets angry, not only do you lose your job. He can make you disappear.

I return with the tray. I serve the drinks with delicacy. The two men on the sides take their glasses. The one in the corner doesn't. He just watches me. His eyes follow me like knives.

"If that's all... I'll retire," I whisper, turning around.

"Out."

The word echoes in my back. I speed up. But it wasn't for me. The other two men leave quickly, as if they understood without questioning anything. They leave me alone with him.

Then I hear him.

A familiar voice. Dark. Inevitable.

"Who would have thought that a Carpio would work in a nightclub?"

And then, the stab.

"Does your father know that his beloved daughter works in a bar?"

The air escapes me. My legs falter. I turn slowly...

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