All I ever longed for was a bit of freedom—a taste of happiness that belonged solely to me. But to my family, my yearning was nothing more than selfish fantasy.
A dull ache pressed against my chest, sharp enough to make my breath hitch.
“She’s just being ridiculous again,” Ernesto muttered, shaking his head as he picked up his accordion. “She’s always envied her sister, you know. Some people just can’t accept reality. You can’t force what was never meant for you. Better to let go than keep fighting what’s impossible.”
The melody began again, echoing softly through the walls, but I knew those words weren’t thrown carelessly into the air—he wanted me to hear them, every poisoned syllable.
I shut my eyes, the sound of music fading as I tried to grasp what it truly meant to “accept your fate.”
The doorbell rang.
Moments later, Ernesto’s voice brightened with warmth I hadn’t heard in years. “Lydia! You didn’t even give us a heads-up!”
Lydia’s laughter sparkled through the hallway like sunlight spilling through glass. “Surprises make life fun, don’t they?”
Hans’s squeal pierced the air. “Grandma Lydia! You came!”
Suddenly, the house came alive—Ernesto bustling about like an excited child, rinsing fruit, preparing tea, grinning until his face flushed.
Then Lydia’s gentle voice followed. “Where’s my sister? Shouldn’t she be here to welcome me?”
Ernesto’s smile faltered, just for a breath, before he chuckled coldly. “She’s sulking again. Talking about wanting to travel the world. Honestly, the older she gets, the more immature she becomes.”
Lydia let out a light laugh, soft but tinged with pity.
“You’ve got such a wonderful, lively family,” she said fondly. “I can’t help but feel a little jealous. And she still doesn’t see what she has? Always chasing something else.”
Her tone shifted, syrupy sweet. “Still, don’t be too harsh on Maricel. She’s always been… a bit self-absorbed. Remember how she used to be as a kid? I understand. It’s just a shame you have to put up with it.”
The moment my name was spoken, a shadow fell over the room. Their smiles dimmed.
Sensing the shift, my son quickly jumped in, voice bright with forced cheer. “Let’s not talk about that! Grandma Lydia’s here—it’s a happy day! How about dinner out tonight? My treat!”
Ernesto lit up at once. “Of course! We have an artist in our midst—we should celebrate!”
Hans clapped and bounced excitedly. “Yes! A big dinner! Grandma Lydia’s my favorite!”
Laughter and chatter filled the house once more as everyone hurried to get ready.
Then, the front door slammed. Silence followed.
I rose slowly, stepping out of my room. The living room stood empty, every trace of their voices gone. They’d all gone out together—without a single thought of calling my name.
I sat on the couch, the flickering television reflecting my face back at me—tired, unkempt, hair tangled and eyes dull.
Maybe they were right. Compared to Lydia, I was nothing.
Lydia had never tied herself down—she lived freely, wandered the world, unbound and adored. Meanwhile, I had stayed. I married Ernesto, gave up my dreams for this family, raised our son, doted on our grandson. And now, I was little more than the housekeeper—expected to smile and serve without complaint.
My gaze drifted to the framed family portrait on the wall—five bright, smiling faces radiating happiness.
But mine wasn’t there.
I remembered why. My leg had been broken that week; I was stuck in the hospital. Ernesto had taken Lydia and everyone else to the studio without me.
When I asked him why, he didn’t even hesitate.
“Maricel, Lydia’s been lonely lately. I wanted her to feel included. Besides, she’s your sister—I’m just taking care of her for your sake.”
He’d hung that photo proudly in the center of the living room, beaming every time he looked at it. When he caught me staring, his expression hardened.
“Are you seriously jealous of your own sister again? You’ve always been like this. Try to grow up, Maricel. We’re family—families help one another.”
I looked at the picture again, at all those radiant faces I once believed I belonged among.
And for the first time, I wondered when exactly I had vanished from the story of my own life.
