Chapter 2 Decision

• I remain in a state of shock from the recent events, watching Luis ascend the stairs with a triumphant air. He glances back at me once or twice, a smug smile playing on his lips, as if certain I will adhere strictly to his commands. But he is gravely mistaken; I refuse to endure any more from this relationship. I tolerated it only because it didn't clash with my ambitions, but that ends now.
• The naive Isabella, who complied with everyone's demands, has ceased to exist at this moment. I should never have consented to marry such a heartless man. I'm sorry, Dad, I truly wanted to assist you, but I will not allow myself to become a victim of abuse. The years of maltreatment at my mother's hands are over. Today marks the end of the line. I am Isabella Sardino, heir not only to my father but also to my formidable grandfather. So, if you wish to disinherit me, so be it. Right now, nothing else matters.
• Rising to my feet, I snatch up my bag and dash out. I jump into the car and drive off, tears streaming down my face as I speed away. It isn't until I'm abruptly halted by a red light at an intersection that I'm jolted back to reality by the blare of a car horn. I start the car again, cross the street, and come to a stop, overwhelmed by fear. The thought of returning home is unbearable. Nor can I seek refuge at my grandparents' house; if my grandfather were to see me in this state, he might well take lethal action against Luis.
• I can't have him embroiled in this mess because of me. And if I were to call Dad, he would come, and God knows what he'd do to them both. That's not what I want either. Perhaps Mum would insist I stay with Luis, indifferent to his violence; she seems capable of such coldness. It's best if no one knows for now. But what should I do next? Where can I go looking like this?
• I peer into the mirror to see if I can conceal the marks and make my way to my grandparents' house. It's night; I'll head straight to bed and then, at the crack of dawn, I can slip away unnoticed after I've taken some money from the vase in the kitchen where my grandmother stashes it. With that, I should be able to rent a room for a week. This is the final indignity.
• Here I am, supposedly a millionaire, and yet I don't even possess the funds to rent a room. Luis controls all my bank cards; my mother handed them over to him on our wedding day. I held my tongue at the time because I had no need for them; my grandfather would always provide me with enough money for my daily needs. And now, I find myself without a penny to my name.
• My hopes are quickly extinguished upon realising the slap from Luis has left a significant mark on my face, his fingerprints etched into my skin. I'm utterly alone, with no friends to turn to. A throbbing pain emanates from the back of my head where several tender lumps have formed. Tears begin to stream down my face as I succumb to a sense of utter desolation, feeling like the most miserable woman in the world.
• Leaning my head against the tiller, I weep until a sudden memory strikes me, as though divinely inspired. I recall the flat in the city centre that my grandfather bestowed upon me many years ago. It was a birthday gift when I turned sixteen. The memory is vivid now; he clandestinely whisked me away from home, shrouded in secrecy, and presented it to me. He made it clear that its existence was known only to us.
• The joy that floods through me is immense. Rummaging through my wallet, I locate the address and on my keyring, the key that unlocks it. I quickly search for the address on my phone, which promptly maps out the route for me. It's not too far away. I drive my car to the location, and upon arrival, I'm asked to show my ID at the entrance because the doorman is new and doesn't recognise me. I doubt the previous doorman would have recognised me either; after that initial visit with my grandfather, I never returned — my mother never permitted me to venture out alone.
• The doorman casts glances my way intermittently. I've let my hair down in an attempt to conceal my bruised and battered face. Eventually, he grants me entry.
• "Sorry for the delay, Miss Sardino," he apologises, leaning forward to return my ID—and, I suspect, to get a better look at me. "It's routine. Since you're not a regular visitor, I didn't recognise you, but your grandfather, he's here quite often. How are he and his wife?"
• "They are fine, thank you very much," I reply, keeping my head down so that my hair veils my face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go inside."
• "Oh yes, of course! My apologies!" He hastily moves to lift the barrier that controls entry.
• "Good night, and thank you," I say.
• With that, I start the car, making every effort to ensure the man doesn't see my injuries. He continues to observe me attentively; it's apparent he senses something is amiss. I pray he doesn't discern the extent of my injuries or mention anything to Grandpa. The last thing I want is to cause him any trouble.
• I should never have married Luis. How could I have been so naïve as to believe he had changed his violent ways and that he would treat me kindly if I simply allowed him his will? Oh, Isabella, you really should have foreseen something like this.
• "Good evening. If you need my help, just call," he calls out as I drive away. "Remember, your parking space is the second one on the left!"
• I navigate the car park slowly until I find my space. Gathering my belongings, I head towards the building, gripped by the fear that the keys might not work. With the keys in hand, I approach the door. It's been so long since Grandpa gave them to me; I'm uncertain if they'll still fit. A sigh of relief escapes me as they unlock the front door. I take the lift to the fifth floor.
• Finally, I stand before the door that matches my card number. The door opens with a turn of the key, but I refrain from switching on the light. In the darkness, I collapse onto the sofa in the living room and succumb to tears. Why must these things happen to me? I should have heeded Grandpa's advice and fled with him on my wedding day! How could I have allowed my parents to marry me off to that heartless Luis? With my eyes closed, memories begin to flicker through my mind as if projected on a cinema screen.
• Retrospective.
• A year before…
• I walk, trying to remain inconspicuous, aware that my mother is likely feeling embarrassed by my appearance. She never ceases to express it, casting glances my way as if she harbours some violent thought, while my father offers no words, only reproachful looks. I lower my head, feeling the scrutinising eyes of those around us. Eventually, we arrive at the table they have reserved, which is set with elegance.
• "Isabella, come and sit here!" commands my mother sharply, rolling her eyes and shaking her head with a look of disgust on her heavily made-up face.
• "Sit up straight! Why did you have to wear those clothes? You don't look nineteen at all! I fail to understand how you became so reclusive; you bear no resemblance to me. You should have worn the dress I bought for you!"
• "I'm sorry I didn't wear it, Mum," I respond in a hushed tone, attempting to prevent the other patrons from overhearing. "The dress you chose was too short."
• "That's exactly the one you should have worn! Not those dated garments your grandmother favours. What well-bred girl dresses as you do? You bring shame upon us!"
• She raises her voice in a vain attempt to mask her irritation. The people closest to us cast glances first at her, then at me. I try to shrink into myself, wishing to become invisible. Settling into my chair, I slip on my headphones, desperate to block out her voice, which is an impossible task given the volume she uses to chastise me.
• "I don't know how I ended up with a daughter like you. You haven't a clue about dressing well, nor how to present yourself. And look at your hair! Couldn't you have styled it any better? Didn't you bother with makeup? I should have ensured you prepared adequately. What a disgrace, what a complete disgrace!"
• "Eva, there's nothing to be done now. There's no point in getting worked up! Please, calm down; our guests will be here shortly," my father interjects, casting a sidelong glance in my direction.
• That morning, my mother had burst into my room with a bag and flung it onto the bed, announcing,
• "Isabella, we're dining with some of your father's colleagues tonight. Wear these clothes; I won't have you embarrassing us in that convent attire you favour!"
• "But Mum, can't I just stay at home?" I pleaded, trying to avoid the event. "I've got crucial exams tomorrow!" I detested those gatherings.
• "No, Isabella, they are potential investors in your father's business, and your presence is required! It's imperative that you make a good impression, so no more protests. You're going, and that's final," she declared in a tone that left no room for further discussion.
• "Fine, Mum," I conceded, picking up the bag from the bed with a sense of resignation.
• She regarded me with a satisfied look and departed. I opened the bag with trepidation to discover an extremely short dress that barely extended beyond my hips. Trying it on, I found it beautiful, albeit revealing; my chest nearly spilled from its plunging neckline.
• I could never wear something so revealing! What on earth was Mum thinking, buying me attire more suited to a lady of the night? No, I definitely won’t wear it, even at the risk of her wrath!