chapter 1

The morning sunlight barely reached Ariana’s room, slipping through the half-closed blinds like it was afraid of her. She sat on the edge of her bed, knees drawn up, staring at the floor. Her stomach twisted in knots, not from hunger—though she hadn’t eaten since yesterday—but from the familiar weight pressing down on her chest.

Her mother’s voice cut through the silence.

“Ariana! Get down here. Breakfast is ready… if you can call it that.”

Ariana swallowed hard. Her heart thudded in her chest. She knew what awaited her at the kitchen table: cold cereal, a single slice of toast, and a lecture about her worthlessness.

Downstairs, her father was already at the table, half-drunk and half-absent, a glass of cheap whiskey in hand. Her mother glanced at her, eyes sharp, lips pursed, as if the mere sight of Ariana reminded her of everything she disapproved of.

“Sit. Now,” her mother commanded.

“You’re late.”

Ariana obeyed silently. She had learned years ago that arguing made the mornings worse. The slight hope that her father might smile at her died the second he looked at her, his eyes cold.

“You eat too much for someone who contributes nothing,” he said, his words sharp, almost slicing through the quiet.

“I said, nothing!”

Her mother didn’t correct him. She just watched, arms crossed. Ariana bit her lip, trying not to cry. She could feel the old ache rise in her throat, the one that always came when she remembered they had wanted a boy, a son who could fulfill their dreams. Instead, they got her—born first, the “mistake” they never quite hid.

Later, at school, Ariana found a sliver of escape. She met Lena, her best friend, in the empty hall near the library. Lena’s eyes were warm, a contrast to the cold reception she received at home.

“Hey,” Lena whispered, leaning close.

“How was… everything this morning?”

Ariana hesitated, then let the words spill out, all of them she had kept buried:

“It’s… it’s the same. They look at me like I’m nothing. My dad—he’s worse now. My mom… she just watches. And Evelyn… she laughs when I drop my books.”

Lena reached out, touching Ariana’s arm gently.

“I’m so sorry, Ariana. That’s not fair. None of it is. You deserve better.”

For a moment, Ariana let herself breathe. Someone knew. Someone cared.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Just… don’t tell anyone else, okay? Not even at school.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of the day. Ariana and Lena walked to their first class, but Ariana’s mind was still at home, imagining the hours ahead. Every glance from her mother and father, every smirk from her sister Evelyn—it all followed her like shadows she couldn’t escape.

During math class, Ariana doodled absentmindedly, pencil scratching her notebook. She wrote the word “escape” over and over, circling it, underlining it, as if repeating it could make it real.

When lunch came, she sat alone. The cafeteria smelled like cheap pizza and desperation. She peeked at Daniel, her boyfriend, sitting a few tables away, laughing with friends. He waved when he saw her, and for a second, she thought maybe, just maybe, he could be a refuge.

After school, they met under the big oak tree near the playground. The shadows were comforting.

“How are you holding up?” Daniel asked, tossing a pebble lazily.

“The same,” Ariana said quietly. “It never stops. At home, it’s like… like I don’t exist unless I make mistakes.”

Daniel shrugged, unconcerned.

“Families fight. You just… deal with it.”

Her chest tightened. She had wanted him to understand. To care. But his words cut her deeper than her father ever could.

“You don’t get it,” she whispered, eyes stinging.

“I wish I did,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

That evening, she returned home to the same old routine. Her mother didn’t greet her. Her father muttered something about her laziness, and Evelyn smiled a little too widely as Ariana passed.

Ariana’s room became her sanctuary once again. She lay on her bed, clutching her notebook. Words, thoughts, and fears were the only things she could control. She opened it and began to write, each sentence a small act of rebellion, a tiny light in the darkness she couldn’t escape.

“One day,” she whispered to herself.

“One day, I’ll be free.”

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