My life has never exactly been a fairytale. I grew up watching my mother be humiliated, and every day I feel more anger at her silence in the face of my father's actions.
"Geovana, dinner is ready! Let's eat, honey," Mom said, in that meek tone, as if trying to hide the pain.
I looked at the set table and blurted out, almost in a sigh:
"Aren't we going to wait for Dad?"
She sighed.
"He called. He said he won't be back for dinner, he'll be late."
I laughed bitterly.
"He's probably meeting his mistress again. He's crossed the line, Mom, I don't know how you put up with it."
Her eyes cut me, full of pleading.
"Honey, stop slandering your father. Tamara is just a work friend."
"Don't be naive, Mom. Dad meets that woman after hours, he's always comparing you to her... Honestly, I don't understand you."
She looked away and the silence stretched between us like an impassable wall. We sat at the table, chewing more sorrows than food.
After dinner, I went up to my room. I locked the door and tried to distract myself. My heart was racing—I still hadn't heard back from the hospital where I sent my resume. It was my dream, the chance to finally get out of this emotional prison and build something of my own. I closed my eyes and imagined the phone ringing with the good news...
Before I knew it, sleep overcame me.
The next morning, I woke up anxious. I quickly got ready and went downstairs in my pajamas for breakfast. The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen, but my mother's face betrayed what I already suspected: he hadn't slept at home again.
Shortly after, I heard the key turn in the lock. My stomach churned. The door opened and there he was—Marcelo Lins, my father. The man who should be the example of my life, but who only brings me disgust.
"I'm going to take a shower and then come down for breakfast," he said, as if nothing was wrong.
"Yes, go take your shower, breakfast is ready," Mom replied, sweet as always.
I was silent, but inside I was screaming. The cynical look he gave us disgusted me, and the affection with which my mother still treated him made me angry. How could she do it? How could she put up with all this?
I wanted to scream, throw the truth in both their faces, but I swallowed the words. It wasn't time yet. Maybe the hospital would be my salvation, my escape route. Until then, I could only watch—and gather strength for the day when I would no longer be a hostage to my mother's silence, nor to my father's lies.
I was still there, dwelling on my anger, when I heard the cell phone vibrate on the kitchen table. My heart jumped. I grabbed the device quickly, almost knocking over the coffee cup.
On the screen, an unknown number.
For a moment, I thought about not answering, but something inside me whispered that this call could change my life. I took a deep breath and slid my finger.
"Hello?" my voice came out shaky.
"Good morning. Am I speaking with Miss Geovana Lins?" asked a female voice, professional, firm.
"Yes, this is she."
"This is Julia, from the Human Resources department of Hospital Vida Plena. We are returning your call regarding the resume you sent."
I felt my legs go weak. I leaned on the kitchen counter, and my mother looked at me curiously, trying to decipher from my expression what was happening.
"Yes, of course... I'm listening," I replied, trying to sound confident.
"We have analyzed your resume and would like to invite you for an interview tomorrow at 10 am."
My heart was beating so fast it felt like it wanted to jump out of my mouth. It was the opportunity I had dreamed of, knocking on my door.
"I'll be there! Thank you so much, really!" I replied almost breathlessly.
"Great. Bring your documents and good luck." The call ended.
For a few seconds, I stood paralyzed, still holding the phone to my ear, as if fearing that it was all just a dream.
"What is it, honey?" Mom asked, worried.
I smiled for the first time in days, and tears streamed down without me being able to stop them.
"Mom... the hospital called me for an interview! Tomorrow!"
She opened her arms and hugged me tight, emotional too. But, behind my relief, I felt the gaze of my father, who had just returned to the kitchen. He watched us in silence, with that cold expression, as if none of this mattered.
It was at that moment that I made a decision within myself:
If I get this job, I will no longer depend on him, nor watch my mother crawl after scraps of attention. I am going to build my own life.
That morning, more than ever, I knew that my future was not in that house—it was beyond it.
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