CHAPTER 3

PRISONER

“Uncle, please don't leave Mommy alone until I wake up, okay? She is always sad whenever she is alone. Only you and I keep her happy.”

See this kid! My sweet, little, precious 5-year-old jewel. She has been my life and the thread that ties my sanity together. She is like a luminescent lantern that shines for me in this dark tunnel I call life. Every time I look at her, I remember the decision I made back then to keep her. The choice I made to stay cooked up in this cage like a prisoner.

My father meant every single word that day, and the moment I walked inside the mansion to give my decision was the last time I set foot in that house. The last moment I knew the meaning and the feeling of belonging to the De’Mario family. I was thrown into this cage, and hidden from the world like a bad omen.

They never step foot in here. The guards have been the intermediary between me and them since they convey important matters. Actually, I am always the one to reach out because it is only I who need them. To ask for a supply of food. But even the communication now has reduced to zero since I got Robby as my student. From what he is paying, I am able to fend for myself and cater for little that my child and I need. And since they don’t care about me, they never bothered to ask if I was okay even when I stopped asking for the food supply. I guess I am as good as dead to them.

Well, it is not like I care about them too. They are as good as dead to me too. I agree I messed up, but this was so uncalled for! I deserved a lighter punishment than this. Canceling all my cards and cutting my college education was enough. Grounding me was so unnecessary. Showing zero care for my child is so unjust! Hating her the way they still do, calling her a bastard, seeing her as a stain to their fucking image the way they do is so unforgivable!

Back then, I thought the decision to throw me in this cage was a decision made in haste and anger. I told myself that, my father’s anger would soon come down, and he will reconsider. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and instead of my father’s anger minimizing, it grew even worse, because he never showed his face to me.

Then, as a hopeful fool that I was, I told myself that the birth of my child would change anything. For the better. I thought that when they lay their eyes on my beautiful child, they would warm to me. Not me, no! I needed them to reconsider everything because of their grandchild. But woe unto me, because nobody even came to stay by me at the private hospital that they sneaked me into in the middle of the night when I was giving birth.

I was all alone through all that pain, and after giving birth, I was sneaked in here once again at night and tossed back into this cage. Nobody cared to even ask what the baby looked like. Or how it was doing. Nor the gender. Now how I was going to cope with my condition after the CS. And if I hadn’t asked a female servant to look after me for a couple of weeks after delivery, I would have died in here all alone like a useless dog! And I bet they would not have cared at all!

Angel is just an angel to me. She is my strength and my sanity. She is my hope and joy, and my drive to push through this life. She is my all, in general, something that I can kill for to protect and keep. I might have conceived her by mistake, I might have gotten her from an unworthy son of a bitch, but I don’t regret anything that touches her. I may have made so many wrong decisions, and she may not be the right one for some of my wrongs either, but she beautifies every single thing. She beautified some of my mistakes and my scars too. She took away my pains the moment I held her in my arms. She restored the joy I had lost, and replaced the loneliness and emptiness I had in me with contentment. I see her, and I see my whole life.

I walk up to her as Robby tucks her in bed. They have, surprisingly, become best buddies. Robby is another person who has helped me maintain my sanity in the last three months. He is a student I am teaching how to paint, and honestly, he is a better teacher than I am. His paintings are better even without me instructing a thing. He is so good at it that sometimes I don't see any need for him to come for lessons. I most of the time feel that he is more of my teacher than I am to him. But all the same, he is the only request that my family has ever granted me since that fateful day.

I needed something to keep me busy in this cage that they locked me and my child into. And I needed to stop depending so much on them. I wanted to eliminate the only responsibility they had left on me. I needed to be solely dependent on myself. They don’t need me, so I needed to stop needing them as well. So I pleaded for them to let me at least practice my career, whose studies I did not even finish. I almost howled my poor, downcast soul out and cried my eyes out for them to grant me this. My cries hit their deaf ears and cold hearts for weeks, until they decided to put an end to my nagging by granting me this. And it was worth the trouble. He weirdly manages to cheer me up.