(Rachel's point of view)
The house smelt tense as soon as I opened my eyes. The smell of polished wood and stale cigarettes, mixed with anxiety, was a scent I had gotten used to during the past nineteen years. My father's presence was never kind. He could fill a room without moving, and his shadow covered every corner, making it impossible to find quiet.
Mama had tried to protect me by making a warm bubble in a house full of wrath and doubt. But his cruelty showed in everything he did, from the way he spoke to the way he looked at people to the way he gave orders. He thought she was there to serve him, do what he said without question, and never think about anything outside of the walls he had erected around her.
He would say, "You're too loud," even when Mama was just laughing. "Take it easy, lady. Take charge of your daughter.
Mama never fought. She never spoke loudly. But I could see the calm defiance in her eyes and the flash of anger that he wouldn't see. She had to deal with his jealousy, avarice, and need for control on shoulders that were too weak to handle it.
Back then, I was a little girl with brown complexion, big, interested eyes, and a lot of questions in my head. I wanted to know why Daddy was so mean and why he punished Mama for breathing, living, and smiling. But it was unsafe to ask enquiries in that house. He got furious when people asked him questions. Asking questions led to sanctions.
I learnt rapidly. I learnt to keep silent. To move with caution. To chuckle quietly. So that my mum could smile without anyone thinking anything was wrong. "Rachel," Mama would murmur to me at night, her voice calm but shaky. "Remember, no matter what he says, we are more than this house." We are more than what makes him mad. One day, you will have wings. "Don't let him cut them."
I held on to those words, even when my dad called her names I was too scared to say. Even when he tossed things across the room, breaking crockery or screamed so loudly that our neighbours were scared. Even when he tried to make her think she was weak, ugly, and unworthy. Mama never trusted him. Not completely. She kept her dignity for both of us.
But his dominance didn't stop with words. He was in charge of the money, what she could buy, when she could work, and who she could talk to. Mama was smart and capable, but he made sure she stayed reliant on him. She wasn't able to support herself. She couldn't choose for herself.
I despised him for that. For having my mother kneel in a life she didn't desire and for letting me see her suffer. But I also despised myself for feeling like I had no power. Because they were simply kids. For knowing that I couldn't save her from him no matter how much I loved her.
School was my getaway; it was the only place I could breathe without worrying about what he would think. But I still felt his shadow there. The way my mum would clasp my hand before I left for school and say, "Be careful." Stay strong. "Don't let him break you." I was careful with every lesson, test, and friendship, as if one incorrect move could let him into my secure place and ruin it.
He was gone by the time I was sixteen. Or maybe the world had snatched him from us, and I didn't feel as relieved as I imagined I would. His absence couldn't mend the scars he had left behind. My mother worked four jobs to make up for years of missed chances. She was free in physically but not in memory. She never complained, and she never let her tiredness show, but I could see the sadness, remorse, and restless nights in her eyes.
I told myself at that moment that I would get up. That I would fight for every dream that was taken from us and every happy moment that Daddy took away from us. I would be a star, not just for me but also for Mama. I would build her the house she deserved and give her the life she had been denied. I would make Mom proud in ways that no one, not even my dad, could ever take away.
But dreams are delicate, and life has a way of turning even the greatest plans into bad ones.
I had no idea that the day I finally tried to give her everything the house, the safety, and the proof of my success would be the day I lost it all. The day she would cry, not because she was happy, but because she couldn't save her life.