Rita Barker.
That was the name of Sheila's younger sister.
'Rita… did you really have to send a letter?' Sheila wondered as she accepted the letter from the delivery man through the window.
Upon closer inspection, Sheila noticed that the letter was a light blue color with some cute little animal figures.
"Could you sign here?" asked the delivery man, snapping Sheila out of her analysis.
"Yes," Sheila replied as she took the delivery note and the pen.
The moment Sheila signed the delivery note and handed it back to the delivery man, he said goodbye at an incredible speed.
'Is there something wrong with the letter?' Sheila wondered, confused.
Seconds passed, and seeing nothing externally out of the ordinary, she decided to open it.
Her heart felt a brief relief upon seeing that there was only a folded white sheet inside the letter.
As she slowly unfolded the sheet, Sheila's calm state began to fade as she read:
[Hello, dear sister]
A paragraph.
She was only on the first paragraph and couldn't believe what she was reading.
'Dear sister? Do you really have the nerve to write that, Rita?'
Sheila could still remember the days in that house where her younger sister would constantly pester her. No matter how many times she ignored her, Rita always found a way to get her in trouble with their father or, worse, with her stepmother, the person she got along with the least.
Despite her growing annoyance, Sheila continued reading the letter.
[I know living abroad isn't easy, but finding you wasn't either]
'Yes, it's definitely her,' Sheila thought as she read that part.
Slowly, Sheila's mind began to recall her past in that house.
…
"Hey, what are you doing?"
Sheila was surprised to hear a voice she had never heard before.
'Who is that?' Sheila thought as she turned her head to see who it was.
A girl, a little smaller than her but seemingly of a similar age, was watching her with eyes full of curiosity towards the paper she was working on.
A few seconds passed before Sheila noticed that her bedroom door was wide open.
This annoyed Sheila, as her father never entered her room without her permission.
"Mom!" the girl suddenly shouted, surprising Sheila.
A few seconds later, a woman, who shared the girl's golden hair and facial features, entered her room.
What were these people doing in her room?
"What's wrong, Rita?" the woman said as she approached the girl.
"She's ignoring me!" Rita shouted, pointing at Sheila, who was still sitting at her desk.
What was going on?
Sheila didn't understand why the girl seemed about to cry.
Kneeling down, the woman petted Rita's head.
"Calm down, dear. Not all girls received an education like yours," the woman said in a low voice, but Sheila could still hear those words.
The girl hugged her mother, making Sheila feel uncomfortable.
She didn't know how to deal with this situation.
Sheila slowly began to fold the paper containing her drawing to leave the room with it, but to her surprise, her father entered her room in a hurry.
"Jennie, what happened? Why did you leave...?"
"Seneca!" Jennie interrupted him.
"What happened?" Seneca asked, confused.
"You didn't tell me your daughter was this rude," Jennie complained angrily.
"What did Sheila do?" Seneca asked, even more confused.
"She won't even talk to my daughter!" Jennie complained.
"Sheila?" Seneca said, fixing his gaze on his daughter.
Sheila, despite being nervous about the presence of strangers in her room, tried to justify herself.
"She... entered my room... and..."
"Speak louder," Jennie interrupted Sheila, as her voice was barely audible.
Seneca, feeling overwhelmed by this unexpected situation, tried to ease the tension by grabbing Jennie's wrist.
"Jennie"
"What?"
"Do you remember what I told you about Sheila? Since what happened that day, she..."
"That's no excuse for her to ignore my daughter, Seneca!" Jennie shouted, causing Seneca to step back.
Sheila, unable to bear the unbearable atmosphere in her room, ran out while holding the paper with her drawing.
Quickly, Sheila climbed up to the attic and locked herself in.
She just wanted to be alone.
Besides... was it her imagination? Or did that girl really smile when she passed by running?
With her breath heavy, Sheila tried to calm down, but soon heard the sound of the door.
"Sheila"
It was her father's voice.
"Who are they?" Sheila asked, bewildered.
Seeing her father remain silent, Sheila asked again:
"Dad, who are they? Why did they come into my room?"
"Sheila... Jennie is not a bad person. Neither is Rita," Seneca explained slowly.
This explanation confused Sheila.
"Could you try to get along with them?"
This question left Sheila frozen, as it brought to mind the content of a story she had read months ago.
Stepmother.
"No!" Sheila shouted immediately.
Was her father really getting her a stepmother?
A replacement for her mother?
"Sheila..." Seneca said in a low voice.
"Please"
Sheila was about to refuse again, but the memories of her father's lonely state passed through her mind, even though she was still a child, she noticed her father's loneliness.
His look.
The way he did household chores.
And above all, his routine.
A man who used to come back with energy to spend time with her and her mother, now seemed like a zombie as seen in movies.
It was difficult.
She didn't want to accept it, but...
"Okay," Sheila said as she sat on the floor.
She wasn't ready to go out, but if it helped her father...
"Try to come out soon. They're waiting for you downstairs"
Little by little, the sound of Seneca's footsteps faded until Sheila was left in complete silence.
She wasn't ready for this.
Slowly opening the paper where she had been drawing, Sheila looked at the drawing she had made of a landscape full of mountains and birds.
It was a beautiful landscape, but one she hadn't seen with her own eyes for years.
School... home... school... home...
Maybe with those people in her house... things would change?
Slowly, gathering courage, Sheila put the drawing in her pocket and left the attic.
Certainly, the house didn't feel so lonely now. Despite being on the top floor of the three-story house, as she descended, she could hear voices coming from the lower floor.
Before Sheila approached the stairs leading to the first floor, she felt something touch her back.
"Boo!"
Feeling a push, Sheila turned to see the girl who had entered her room.
Apparently, Rita had been waiting for her in one of the rooms and tried to surprise her, but seeing Sheila remained indifferent, she frowned.
"Are you mute?"
Sheila shook her head.
"Then why don't you talk?" Rita asked, somewhat annoyed.
"I'm..."
"Are you...?"
"Slow"
"Slow?" Rita repeated, confused.
Sheila nodded.
"You're weird," Rita commented as she noticed something sticking out of Sheila's pocket.
Before Sheila could react, Rita grabbed the paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
Embarrassed, Sheila tried to take the drawing back, but stopped when Rita started laughing.
"What's this?" Rita asked, smiling.
Before Sheila could say anything, Rita turned and ran downstairs.
Instinctively, Sheila followed her a few seconds later, but it was too late.
Rita was showing the drawing to her mother, and both began to laugh.
Feeling a pain in her chest, Sheila turned to look at her father, but he did nothing.
...
Sheila was sitting at her dining table, crying.
'It hurts'
Even though years had passed since that event, it still hurt Sheila to remember that scene, as it was the beginning of everything, but it was there that Sheila realized something very important.
Her drawing.
'Did I really stop drawing because of Rita?' Sheila asked herself incredulously as she wiped her tears.
She couldn't believe it.
Though she had been annoyed for years by Rita's selfish, manipulative, and narcissistic attitude, Sheila refused to accept that Rita was the cause of her abandoning her art, but...
A part of her told her that maybe it made sense.
Before, she had no time to draw because she had to study as best as she could to graduate and get a good job to survive in this country.
Before, the least she had was time, but now...
When was the last time she tried to draw something?
'No... there's no point in thinking about that now. It's just a silly hobby I had as a child,' Sheila thought, trying to calm herself, but she couldn't fool her heart.
'Concentrate,' Sheila repeated to herself in her head.
She had to read the letter.
She had to know what Rita wanted this time.