Lucia sat quietly in the car next to Adela. She wanted to hug her but she dared not. Dela would not accept that she was proud.
"I wonder where I went wrong with you," their mother said and Lucia felt the hurt as if the words had been directed at her.
She could feel how stiff Adela was getting with every word. She wanted to speak up and defend her but she knew it would not be appreciated. Adela would only be angry at her.
"Look at Line," their mother carried on pride entering her voice, "She was a hit. She did her part well. Why can't you be more like her?"
"She is not her, mother!" Lucia could not hold it in anymore.
How could their mother be oblivious to the harm she was doing to her oldest daughter? How could she not know the harm her words were causing? How could she not see beyond Adela's silence? Lucia could see the hurt in her eyes. She could see the slight tremble on her lips. She was sure later she would see the muffled sobs coming from her room. How could their mother be so cutting? Adela had done her best. She could not control how Prince Michael would respond. How could their mother lay that down at Adela's door?
"Yes," their mother said her voice stubborn and unyielding, "That's why I said she should try to be more like her."
"Prince Alexander is not like Prince Michael," Lucia's voice was flat but her eyes were full of fire.
She was trying to hide the anger she felt for her sister. She was oblivious to the lack of care her mother showed her. She welcomed it. But Adela was different. She wanted her mother to love her. Lucia saw that. How could their mother not see that?
"Why can't you accept we are all different?" Lucia asked.
Why is your love limited to how well we can capture a prince? She bit back the words.
"I accepted it," Josephine stated patiently.
"Then why are you angry with Dela?" Lucia's voice trembled with emotion.
"Shut up Lucy," Adela said quietly.
"I am not angry at her," their mother said, "I am disappointed."
She said it like it was better. It was not. It did not hurt Adela any less. It probably hurt more.
"You can't be," Lucia was angry and it showed, "Dela did her best!"
"Her best was disappointing," Josephine said firmly.
"Why can't my best be good enough for you?" Adela finally spoke.
Her voice shook. She was looking at her lap but when she lifted her eyes, they had tears in them just waiting to overflow.
"Is it good enough for you?" Josephine asked her oldest daughter.
Adela stare at her mother her mouth trembling. A tear slid down her cheek and she swiped it away and turned her head away.
"Prince Michael did not look twice at you," Josephine pointed out, "You had the most expensive dress in that room, the best aesthetic, nothing in your looks could be rivalled by anyone but you could not capture his attention. Is that your best?"
Adela remained silent but her shoulders shook. Lucia could see the slight tremors in her shoulders and she could hear the hitches in her breath. Even without seeing her face, she knew Adela was crying.
"I asked you a question Adela," their mother persisted.
"Leave her alone!" Lucia cried out at the same time her sister cried out a response.
"No!" Adela's voice was choked.
Lucia watched as her mother nodded in satisfaction.
At that moment, she hated the woman who had given her life. She hated her with a passion. And she felt for her sister. She wanted to reach out a hand to her and offer comfort but she did not dare. She knew it could not be welcome. She feared Adela blamed her too for the pain she was feeling. She should not have said anything. She should have let their mother's rant run its course. She should have kept out of it. But she opened her big mouth and made things worse.
The car slowed down as it entered the gates to their estate. Lucia wanted to shout at her mother. Why did she not comfort Adela? Why did Adela have to pay for their exile? Why did their mother treat her like a tool and not regard her emotions? She was silently crying in the shadows of the car and their mother was not comforting her. Why was she like this? What kind of a mother was she? And why was Caroline not helping?
Lucia glanced at Caroline. She sat next to their mother quietly. She had her head bowed and her gaze was glued to her fingers. She looked like she was trying to blend into her seat.
As soon as the car came to a stop Adela rushed out of the car and Lucia followed her. Adela ran up the stairs and went to her room. She turned around as soon as Lucia was about to step into the room with her and she slammed the door in her little sister's face.
"Dela," Lucia tried.
"Go away!" Adela cried through the door immediately.
A door opened further down the hall and Leroy's head peaked out.
"Is she okay?" his face and voice conveyed concern and curiosity.
"She was crying," Lucia said.
"I was not!!!" A muffled cry came out of Adela's room.
Leroy smiled. She was obviously crying. They could hear it in her voice. He fully stepped out of his room and leaned on the wall. He regarded Lucia.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Mother is hateful," Lucia's voice was small, sad.
Leroy's eyes filled with understanding.
"That bad, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah," the young girl nodded her head sadly.
This was normal in her family.
"Why does she hate us?" Lucia asked her brother.
He walked over to her and put a hand on her head.
"You know she doesn't hate us," he said.
Lucia swatted his hand off.
"She does."
"Everything she does is for us," Leroy told his little sister, "Mother cares. This is the only way she knows how to show us."
"She needs to find another way," Lucia said, "Because right now her way hurts."