Kiana

Spring is usually synonymous with warmth, aesthetics, and renewal. It is the season when we, like beasts stirring from a winter slumber, begin to inhale the crisp, bracing air, feeling an immediate surge of vitality. The world fills with the cheerful chirping of birds.

It was my favorite time of year—until one incident last year tore everything apart. As if by some cruel conspiracy, that spring had been exceptionally beautiful. Everything was in bloom, fragrant and lush; the sun was blinding.

I used to look forward to the tulips in the park, the first bike rides, the solace of the outdoors. But instead of serenity, spring brought an event that irrevocably fractured my relationship with the season.

Life had never been kind to me. As if my struggles weren't enough, fate decided to test me with a particular cruelty, unleashing one trial after another, each more devastating and jagged than the last.

Why? Why me? What was my sin?

Regrettably, I never found the answers. Instead, I received something far more agonizing. And, in a twist of bitter irony, it arrived again with the spring. I had hoped this year would be easier. I had no idea how heavy—how excruciating—it would truly be.

Every morning, waking to the insistent singing of birds outside my window, I felt nothing but a sharp, stabbing ache. That cheerful chirping, which once brought a smile, now sounded like mockery—a cruel reminder of the past. Of him.

I stopped leaving the house. Drawn curtains became my only companions, shielding me from the sunlight and the living world outside. I was terrified to watch the buds bloom or the grass turn green, signaling the start of new life. Because for me, life had stopped. It had frozen on that single day when the spring sun mercilessly illuminated a tragedy that split my existence into "before" and "after."

Eventually, I thought I had healed. I began to see the beauty in spring again, telling myself the season wasn't to blame for my misery. Then, the nightmare returned. Only this time, it was infinitely more painful. 0 this time, there was someone else in the equation..

******

- Mom, please! - l pleaded, my voice thick with desperation.

- My decision is final, daughter. Your hesitation won't change it.

She tossed my travel bag aside with careless indifference and turned toward the wardrobe.

- Mom! - l screamed, lunging to snatch my things back from her. - I'm begging you. If this is so important to you, go yourself. Just leave me behind.

- How can you say such a thing?

- Stop pretending you care about me! If I mattered to you even slightly, you wouldn't be doing this.

Don't cry... Tears are a person's greatest weakness. Show them, and you've already lost.

- I love him, don't you understand that?

- I don't. How many men is that now? How many 'loves' have you had?

- Kiana!

- Don't call me that!

Rage, laced with deep-seated resentment, boiled within me. Every word she spoke, every gesture, felt precision-engineered to inflict maximum pain. I was suffocating under the weight of the injustice, her stubbornness, and the crushing realization that my feelings meant nothing to her. She had proven that to me time and time again.

- I am Eva. EVA. How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that? - I exploded.

- Why are you getting so worked up? You know mothers and daughters... it happens, - she replied calmly, as if it were a triviality. But it wasn't. It was everything.

- Mothers... mothers don't do this, Mom. But you... you don't give a damn! You never listened. You only ever did what served you. I'm ashamed to even show my face in public. Everyone knows who you are.

- And who am I? Tell me. A whore, is that what you mean to say?

- Isn't that the truth? - the words slipped out before I could stop them. She turned pale instantly.

I had always fought those thoughts, telling myself they weren't true. But gradually, I had accepted the grain of truth within them. She had professed love to so many men that the very word now felt like venom in my throat. And every time, it was the same cycle. The same mistakes.

I wonder how long this 'love' will last?

Silence descended upon the room. Our heavy gazes collided in the air, tearing the stillness apart. I waited. I waited to see what she would say, what lie she would conjure this time. She was always an expert at maneuvering, always finding the words to justify her wreckage.

- You don't understand, Kiana, - she finally uttered, and I involuntarily flinched at the name. There she went again. - I am doing this for you. So that you can have nothing but the very best.

-. The very best? Is that when I'm dragged from city to city following your lovers? When I have to meet new 'uncles' almost every single month?

- Yes, Eva, precisely so, - she squeezed out, as if each word inflicted actual physical pain. - I am trying to ensure you never want for anything. That you have an education, beautiful clothes, opportunities that I never had.

- And what about love, Mom? What about a family where there is more than just money-where there is warmth and support? What about just being there? - I asked the questions knowing full well I would never receive a sincere answer. Her world was different; it was a realm of material values, a race she ran while failing to notice she was losing the only thing that truly mattered-me.

I am useless to her. I realized that long ago. Otherwise, she wouldn't act this way.

Twice, her so-called 'love' had manifested as a nightmare. The first time... well, she hadn't learned anything; she hadn't even given it importance. So what if her fiancé had slipped sleeping pills into my food and attempted to rape me? He had been harrassing me for a long time before that.

And the second time... it was better not to remember. A wound too jagged to touch.

- Have you forgotten what happened last time?

- That boy was simply out of his mind, Kiana. And he won't be allowed near you again. Have you forgotten where he is? And Kiana... I will call you Kiana. That is what your psychologist said. To repeat it over and over until you grow accustomed to it.

- But I won't grow accustomed to it.

- You will. You simply refuse to. Stop bottling everything up. It's been a year.

- That man... your current fiancé. I looked him up.

- And? You always do that.

- He has a son.

- Good God! Kiana!

She turned to walk away-her habitual retreat when she no longer wished to listen-but I wouldn't let her. I stepped forward, blocking her path.

- What? What is it this time? - she snapped, rubbing her forehead with a heavy sigh. - Are you afraid this one will try to touch you, too?

- No, - I said, though in truth, I was. This one, too. - His mother died no more than a month ago. It is wrong to just show up at their doorstep with suitcases and declare that you are his father's fiancée.

- You know nothing. He and his wife were not on the best of terms anyway. And his son knew that perfectly well.

I felt a wave of despair rising within me. How could she be so blind? Or did she simply refuse to see the obvious? Her thirst for a gilded life had clearly eclipsed her sanity. Was she truly prepared to sacrifice my safety and my peace of mind for this? Apparently, she was.

- Mom, please, just think, - I tried to soften my tone, hoping to reach some small part of her. - Give him time to grieve the loss. Give his son time to process the idea that his father is bringing a new woman into his life. It would be the right thing to do. The human thing to do.

She fell silent, watching me with a strange expression. It was as if she had suddenly seen a stranger in me. Or perhaps, she saw in my eyes the reflection of her own fears and doubts. But instead of acknowledging her mistake, she chose the path of denial, as she always did.

Suddenly, a knock at the door shattered the silence.

- Madam, Mr. Stone has sent for you, - a voice called from behind the door.

- We are almost finished. We will be down shortly, - my mother replied.

She shot me a look full of reproach, radiating irritation that I had dared to disrupt her plans. She pointedly adjusted the collar of her dress, as if preparing to step onto a stage, and headed for the door.

- Wait, - I said, grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving. - Please, just hear me out. Just 9 for a second that I were his son. How would you feel if someone burst into your father's life with a new wife, l after burying your mother? Isn't that cruel ?

- You don't understand, - she repeated, like a broken record. - It is different. Everything over there has been arranged. If you want to stay here, stay. But keep in mind the consequences. Everyone knows who I am. And that means they know my daughter. And you are a beautiful girl, especially those grey eyes of yours-they stand out more than anyone else's. So, what will it be? Are you coming with me, or are you going to repeat another one of your little stories?

Her words sounded like a threat disguised as care. She was pressing on my wounds again, reminding me that I lived in her world, by her rules, and any attempt to defy her would turn against me.

I let go of her arm, conceding defeat. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes before being replaced by her habitual mask of indifference.

She walked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my fears. I heard her speaking to the driver by the door, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing down the stairs. And then, everything went silent.

I looked down at my travel bag, discarded on the floor. Is this my life? Endless moves, new faces, strange homes. All for the sake of her beautiful life, her ambitions. But what about me? Will anyone ever ask what I want?

And I wouldn't have the courage to go against her. She was right. My appearance attracted too much attention.

I walked to the window and looked down. A black limousine stood at the gates, its lacquer gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.

Slowly, as if in a trance, I approached the bag and opened it. Aimlessly sorting through my things, I felt a void growing inside me. That familiar emptiness that settles in the soul after every fight with my mother. It sucks out your energy and leaves nothing but a sense of powerlessness.

I descended the stairs and stepped outside. My mother was standing by the car, talking to the driver. She turned to see me, and a faint smile appeared on her face. "There's my good girl," her gaze seemed to say. I sat in the car without looking at her.

The entire way to the Stone estate, I remained silent, staring out the window. My mother talked, but I didn't listen. Other thoughts circled my mind: What awaits me in that house? How much hatred will that boy harbor for us? And how long can I hold out?

The trees were already beginning to bloom. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange. It was beautiful. Spring was always beautiful.

But last year had been darkness for me. Even spring could not brighten that darkness. The sessions with psychologists felt meaningless. No one could truly understand what I was feeling. How could you explain to a stranger that you had been betrayed by the person closest to you-the one who was supposed to protect and love you? It had all been a lie. His love, his feelings... all of it.

The car entered the estate grounds and came to a halt before a massive house, more akin to a castle than a home. Everything here screamed wealth and luxury: manicured lawns, fountains, sculptures... But beneath all that polish, there was a palpable sense of coldness. An alienation.

The driver opened the door, and I stepped out. My mother walked behind me, scanning her surroundings with a satisfied air. She was clearly anticipating a new life. I, on the other hand, felt only fear and hopelessness. The estate felt foreign, unwelcoming.

As I looked around, my eyes caught a silhouette on the second-floor balcony. It was a guy. I recognized him immediately; I had spent all of yesterday scouring the internet for information. Jason Stone...

He wore nothing but black trousers, his bare torso revealing the build of an athlete. His jet-black hair was wet. He stood with his hands in his pockets, drilling me with a gaze full of undisguised hatred. His eyes radiated contempt and disgust.

I flinched, instinctively searching for even the slightest hint of kindness in his cold stare. But there was nothing in them but rage and pain.

I looked away, trying not to betray my fear. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run. But my feet felt as if they were rooted to the ground, unable to move. A chill settled deep inside me, a premonition of something terrible.

Inside, a tall man with a stern face was already waiting for us. This, it seemed, was Mr. Stone. As he approached, my mother rushed to him, throwing her arms around him. I remained standing in place, watching the scene with a sense of detachment. Their kiss felt fake, performed. There was no sincerity in it, only calculation.

- This is my daughter, Kiana, - my mother introduced me with a forced smile. At the mention of that name, the hair on my arms stood up. Was she doing this on purpose?

- I am Eva, not Kiana, - I corrected her. The man smiled.

- Well, Eva, it's a pleasure to meet you. Sarah has told me so much about you.

A lie. She wouldn't waste a single second of her time talking about me in a man's company.

- I am Edward. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us, - he said, extending his hand. I hesitated before shaking it. His grip was firm, but lacked any real enthusiasm. - I guess he doesn't like me either, - flashed through my mind.

At that moment, Jason-still half-dressed-began to descend the stairs, slow and deliberate, heading straight toward us. Heat flooded my body again, as if Satan himself had appeared before me. He walked with confidence, his entire demeanor projecting disdain for our presence. When he reached us, he stopped directly in front of me.

- Allow me to introduce my son, Jason, - Stone said, and I caught a faint note of tension in his voice. My mother put on a pleasant smile, but Jason didn't even spare her a glance. He looked only at me, searing me with his hateful gaze. As if I were here by choice.

He didn't say a word; he didn't even move. His eyes were locked onto mine, and I couldn't look away. In those dark eyes, a storm of emotions raged: anger, pain, disappointment, and contempt.

- Pleasure to meet you... Kiana, - he said, reaching out his hand.

His voice, husky and laced with sarcasm, grated on my nerves. He emphasized the name intentionally, knowing how much it repulsed me. There was a challenge in his words, a threat. It was as if he were saying, "Welcome to hell, girl."

Mustering my courage, I shook his hand in return. His grip was light at first, then suddenly turned steel-like, searingly tight. He was testing me, checking my strength.

I jolted at the sudden pressure, but I refused to show even the slightest sign of weakness. Looking him straight in the eye, I forced his fingers to release mine.

- Eva. My name is Eva, - I said firmly, making it clear he wouldn't get his way. He smirked, seeing my resolve.

- Whatever you say, Kiana, - he repeated, ignoring my correction entirely.

It seemed this spring was going to be a long, hard one.