Chapter 1: Scissors on Silk

On my graduation day, I found my stepsister tearing apart the dress I’d worked on for months. My stepmother laughed in my face when I asked her to stop her. But my dad, the man who’d spent years avoiding family conflicts, did something neither of us expected.

And that morning, in our elegant home on the outskirts of San Antonio, Texas, I discovered that sometimes the quietest person in a family is also the most dangerous when they finally decide to set boundaries.

—Valentina! What are you doing?!

My scream echoed off the bedroom walls.

Valentina kept cutting.

Snip.

The champagne-colored fabric fell to the floor.

Snip.

The scissors pierced the bodice of my graduation dress.

Snip.

Another piece of silk ended up next to her designer heels.

My nineteen-year-old stepsister was wearing a designer black outfit, her dark hair perfectly curled, and sporting a smile that looked rehearsed in front of the mirror. She didn’t even flinch when I came running in from the hallway.

I was eighteen years old. I was wearing a white blouse, simple pants, and my hair was loose. My graduation cap was on the dresser, next to a photograph of my mother, who had died six years earlier.

For a few seconds, I couldn’t move.

That dress had cost eight hundred and forty dollars. I had worked weekends at a coffee shop, taken double shifts, and kept tips in a shoebox under my bed.

I hadn’t bought any new clothes in months.

Everything for that morning.

“Let him go!” I shouted, moving towards her.

Valentina made one last cut, lifted the scissors and dropped the dress onto the bed.

—Relax. It was ugly anyway.

Then she threw the scissors down next to the pieces of cloth and looked at her nails.

I picked up the dress with trembling hands.

The skirt was open in several places. The bodice had irregular cuts, and one of the straps hung like a broken thread.

“I saved up for months for this,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “You knew how much it meant to me.”

Valentina shrugged.

—It’s not my fault you have cheap taste.

—It cost more than several of your handbags!

Her smile disappeared for a moment.

Then it reappeared, more poisonous than before.

—At least my bags don’t look like they were bought at a thrift store.

I looked towards the door, hoping someone had heard the screams.

Our house had four bedrooms, a dark wooden staircase, and huge windows that let in the morning light. From the outside, it looked like the perfect home for a well-to-do family.

But within those walls, I had learned to distinguish between a beautiful house and a place where you were truly loved.

“Why did you do this?” I asked.

Valentina crossed her arms.

—Because you always have to be the center of attention.

—Today is my graduation!

-Exactly.

The word came out of his mouth with such obvious satisfaction that I felt a chill run down my spine.

Before he could answer, Elena appeared in the doorway.

My stepmother was wearing a cream-colored dress, gold earrings, and her dark hair was perfectly straightened. She was holding a cup of coffee as if she had come in to ask about breakfast, not to witness the destruction of something I cared about.

She looked at the dress.

Then he looked at Valentina.

Finally, she sighed.

—Sofia, please. Don’t start with your drama so early.

I looked at her without understanding.

—¿Mi drama?

“It’s just a dress,” Elena replied. “You can wear something else.”

—She destroyed it on purpose.

Valentina raised her eyebrows with feigned innocence.

“Mom, I was just smoothing out some wrinkles.” Sofia burst in screaming like crazy.

—I saw you cutting it!

—Well, you saw what you wanted to see.

Elena placed her cup on the dresser and stood next to her daughter.

Not next to me.

Next to her.

“Valentina’s right about one thing,” he said. “You always exaggerate. Your father already has enough problems at work without you ruining his morning over something so trivial.”

I felt my throat close up.

My father, Roberto, had worked for years to build his construction materials distribution company. He was a man of few words, tall, broad-shouldered, and with a neatly trimmed beard. After marrying Elena, he had become quieter at home.

I had interpreted that silence as tiredness.

Sometimes, even as indifference.

But that morning I still expected him to do something.

“I’m going to call him,” I said.

Elena let out a giggle.

—Why? So I can buy you another dress and tell you you’re a princess?

Valentina leaned against the dresser.

“Maybe I should buy one for myself too. Mine costs more than all your clothes put together.”