While her sisters had been happy with the tiaras their mother had picked up for them, Adela had been strangely detached. She had smiled and cooed appropriately, but she had felt trapped. One more thing her mother was picking out for her. She had not missed the way her mother had frowned at her short hair. She had felt like her heart was being squeezed. She had pretended not to notice, pretended to be as excited as her sisters. But she had been hurting, as she had for most of her life.
Nothing about her made her mother happy. She was beginning to think that her mother did not like her at all. She could never seem to do things just the way she wanted. She was tired. So, she smiled and went along with it. In her mind, she was done. At some point, she had to stop living and striving for the approval that could never come.
