SCHOOL BULLIES
The move from a cozy family home to a small studio in the East End was a major change—it was like starting fresh in a new world.
While Victoria was busy fighting for survival in the streets and offices, Clara and Celine faced their own quiet struggles inside the walls of their school.
Being orphans with a selfish uncle made them easy targets for cruel teasing from other kids who smelled their poverty as a fragrance.
Clara, with her quick wit and sharp mouth, often caught the attention of the 'High Street Elites'—the girls whose parents still had accounts at their father's firm Dante had just sold.
They would leave anonymous notes in her locker, such as fake legal summonses they had made at home, called 'Notice of Eviction from Reality,' and they'd laugh at her small school blazer, which fit poorly.
One day, they cornered her in the girls' bathroom and threw dirty mop water on her, mocking her elder sister's job as a cleaner.
"Why don't you practice your legal skills now, Clara?" they sneered. "Suing us for a dry-cleaning bill you can't pay?"
Clara stood there soaked, her eyes burning—not with tears, but with a quiet strength and a sea of hurt she couldn't show.
Celine's torment was more mental. Because she was a math whiz who saw patterns in the stock market while other kids struggled with basic math, she was called a freak.
The boys in her class would snatch her books—like the advanced accounting textbook Victoria had bought for her—and play keep-away on the school bridge.
"Why are you studying money you'll never have, Sterling?" they teased. "Try to figure out the math of a life with nothing to hold onto."
Sometimes, they snatch her backpack and throw her lunch—a lonely, bruised apple and some dry toast—into the trash.
She was called the Broken Calculator, mocked for being the smartest girl in a space that didn't seem to want her.
But Celine never argue or fight back. She would sit quietly on the hallway floor, carefully picking her papers and books out of the dirt, and head to the library.
One day, both twins came home feeling very hurt —Clara from a shove down the stairs and Celine from a prank that left her coat torn.
Victoria was out on the street, searching for every penny she could find, leaving the two ten-year-olds alone in the quiet evening.
Clara looked at her torn blazer and then at Celine. "They think we're nothing," Clara whispered softly.
Celine, holding her calculator taped together, said, "Because their parents come with cars—that's why they call us poor."
By the time Victoria returned around 6:00 PM, smelling of industrial bleach, she found the girls asleep on the table, their hands linked, surrounded by textbooks.
Their faces looked pale from hunger.
She slowly entered the room, each step feeling heavy after a long day of hard work.
The room was silent—almost too quiet. She gently touched their hair, her trembling fingers brushing over their dry, fragile strands.
They slowly stood up.
"I'm sorry," Victoria whispered, her voice trembling and softly breaking the silence. "I didn't mean to come home late; I had to do extra work so we could buy new backpacks…"
"Welcome back, Vic," Clara said excitedly about the backpack.
"Welcome," Celine whispered quietly.
Victoria had learned how to hide her vulnerable moments from her sisters. Perhaps she had finally realized her importance in their lives. She had to cover the stress of the day under her smile.
"How was school today?" she asked.
"It was fine," Celine nodded.
"Look," Clara said, stretching her bruised hand painfully, "someone pushed me down the stairs."
"The same person you reported last week?"
"No."
"I'm very sorry, dear," Victoria said as she pulled her into a warm hug. "You are better than them—that's why they're jealous of you."