CHAPTER - 1
My mother yelled at me in a high-pitched, thin voice that carried a tone of anger. I replied with a smile in a normal voice, 'Mom, why are you shouting? Be relaxed, Mom, your blood pressure will go up.' Looking at me with angry eyes, my mother, while running her hand over her forehead, said, 'Leen, you have turned 17 now. You have grown up; you should stop doing childish things.' In a moment of reflection, I found myself standing before my beloved mother, having taken a step forward and said with a fake smile, I had only intended to assist that child and nothing more. Upon hearing this, my mother grew even angrier, yet with a gaze filled with frustration, she spoke softly, 'I do not know who has instilled this mischief in you, for your father and I have always taught you good values.' You were mocking that innocent girl in the company of your friends and sister. I, while playing with my beautiful hair, said in a sweet voice (My voice is very dear to me) , Mom it is that girl's fault that she couldn't understand our normal joke and started crying. I was just having fun with her. This time, there was something more than anger in my mother's eyes. Whether I accept it or not, there was pain for me. But why were those eyes directed at me for someone else? In a soft voice, looking at me with those very eyes, she said with a calm face, "Leen, what kind of joke is it with a stranger girl that puts dirty leaves in her hair? What kind of joke is it that four strangers play with her glasses? And everyone was just laughing at that girl's innocent soft voice." While saying this, my mother asked me another question, with a calm face and a gentle voice, "What kind of joke is this?" I feel a strange kind of anger within me when my mother speaks on my behalf for someone else. Her eyes are filled with anger, carrying a sense of pain and disappointment toward me. But why is this disappointment directed at me?In this anger, I told my mother, "Mom, this matter wouldn't have escalated so much if Dad's dear sister hadn't interfered and scolded me. I'm only 17 years old, right? I'm still growing up, so what right does she have to scold me? "Why didn't you say anything to her? Because she is a very big businesswoman, and my father works as her manager, right? That's why, with frustration, I said, "Mom, Mom!" I found my own voice tied in the threads of anger, disappearing somewhere in the echoes of my raised words. My mother sat on a wooden chair wrapped in a beautiful flower decoration right nearby, looked at me, and said, "Leen"—a word used when someone is wrong. But Freya was absolutely right. You were bothering that girl, not even listening to her words. You were simply disturbing her. You know well what effect this must have had on her. She had come there happily, with dreams in her heart, but what did you do? "Leen"—you only troubled her. What Freya did was right. Upon hearing these words, the spark of anger inside me grew even more. With teary eyes and a hoarse voice, I turned to my mother and said, "Mom, why do you always think of Dad's dear sister as being right? Who is she, after all? Some fairy? Or a queen?"Hearing such bitter words from her daughter, my mother seemed even more disappointed and hurt. Hiding that disappointment and pain, she looked at me angrily and said in a firm voice, "Leen, her name is Freya. She is older than you; show her some respect. Freya is a strong woman—not a queen, not a fairy, but a strong woman. Have you forgotten that when your father had no one, when we lost everything, it was Freya who helped him? This grand house, this car, everything we have today is because of her, my child."My mother always says these things whenever Freya is mentioned. These words felt like a dagger piercing my heart, and in a voice filled with resentment, I said, "So, Mom, that's why you always side with Freya? Because she turned us from beggars to rich people? Isn't that right?"As I spoke, I looked into my mother's eyes, which now carried a disappointed and astonished expression. My mother yelled at me, "Leen!"At my mother's reaction, I let out an angry laugh, furrowed my brows, and with red, tear-filled eyes, said in a sharp voice, "Freya is always the one who causes fights in our family. She doesn't like to see us happy together. She always scolds me, always interferes—why?!?"My voice grew louder, my anger boiling over as I continued, "Freya has no family of her own, which is why she wants to set fire to ours, isn't it?""Leen!"This time, the voice did not belong to my mother. When I turned around, I saw my father looking at me with anger, his voice raised as he said, "Leen, how dare you say something like that about Freya? She has no family? Her brother is her family!". I turned to my father, glaring at him with anger before storming out of the room, tears streaming down my face, leaving behind the chamber of those who blindly worship Freya.