The Sound Of Your Heart

TWENTY-SIX

JESSICA

It was Saturday, my favorite day of the week, and I was savoring the quiet and peaceful oasis of my room. I had decided to spend the day indulging in some well-deserved "me time." I rolled out my yoga mat and began to move through a series of rejuvenating poses, letting go of the week's stress.
 
As I gracefully transitioned from one pose to another, my mind was attuned to the calming rhythm of my breath. Each movement felt like a gentle dance, syncing my body and soul. Just as I was sinking deeper into my practice, a sudden and unexpected noise pierced the tranquility of my sanctuary.
 
The sound echoed from downstairs, breaking the serene atmosphere I had carefully cultivated. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze mid-pose. Time seemed to halt as I strained my ears, trying to decipher the source of the commotion. Was it the clatter of shattered glass, or perhaps something as simple as a fallen book?
 
Curiosity urged me to investigate, though caution held me back. My bare feet padded silently across the cool wooden floor as I tiptoed towards the door, acutely aware of the soft creaking beneath my weight. With each step, I listened intently, trying to discern any further clues.
 
Approaching the door, I paused, my hand hesitating on the doorknob. My heightened senses sharpened as I strained to catch any sign of movement or danger. Slipping out of my room, I knew I had to move cautiously. I tiptoed towards the staircase, my breath held in anticipation.
 
"Mom?!" I called out, my voice trembling with both fear and concern. The silence that greeted me was unsettling as I stood at the top of the staircase, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, I heard another broken sound, causing my heart to race even faster. Without hesitation, I began to descend the stairs slowly, my eyes darting around, searching for any signs of danger.
 
As I reached the bottom step, a shiver ran down my spine as I noticed the shattered remnants of a once beautiful vase lying scattered across the floor. The air seemed heavy with tension, making it difficult to breathe. I cautiously made my way towards the living room, following the trail of broken pottery.

I was nervous because, by this time, I knew what was going on. Mommy is on a rampage again, and there's only one reason why she's doing it. I looked at the nearest calendar and saw a date marked in red. I almost cried when I realized today was the death anniversary of my late sister Stella.
 
Growing up, my older sister, Stella, always seemed to have it all. She was the golden child, the apple of my mother's eye. While I tried to find my place among the shadows, Stella effortlessly commanded attention. She had inherited our mother's stunning looks and confident demeanor, making her the epitome of their shared aspirations.
 
Obsession is a powerful force, and our mother was undoubtedly consumed by it. She yearned for Stella to mirror her in every way imaginable—to look like her, to dress like her, and to embrace the assertiveness that she had possessed in her youth. Our mother had been a member of the infamous mean girls' clique during her high school years, and she saw no reason why Stella should be any different.
 
And so Stella grew up pretending to be a bitch, joining the ranks of the popular girls at school who ruled with their cutting remarks and icy stares. This was the image our mother painted for her, molding her into a vessel of her lost youth. It broke our father's heart to see his once-kind daughter transform into someone unrecognizable, but he felt helpless against the tide of my mother's influence.
 
Despite the reputation she cultivated, I knew the real Stella. Under her caustic attitude and sharp remarks, she possessed a kind heart and a vulnerable soul. She was fiercely protective of me, her younger sister, shielding me from the cruel taunts and heartless bullying that had become an everyday occurrence amid our mother's twisted desires.
 
But even the strongest among us have a breaking point. The weight of the insults and labels that were hurled at her became too much to bear. The facade Stella had been forced to wear day in and day out had chipped away at her spirit, leaving her vulnerable to the demons of depression that plagued her mind.
 
One dark and tragic day, unable to bear the relentless barrage of negativity any longer, Stella made the unimaginable choice to take her own life. It was a devastating blow that shattered the foundations of our family, leaving us grasping for answers that would never come.
 
In the aftermath of her death, the truth began to unravel. Friends and classmates gradually revealed the torment she endured, all in the name of an obsession that had been passed down through generations. Stella had become a pawn in our mother's quest for a mini-me, paying the ultimate price for a distorted ideal of beauty and power.
 
As I sat alone amidst the wreckage of our shattered lives, I realized that the world had misunderstood my sister. They saw her as the embodiment of cruelty and arrogance, never penetrating the armor she had donned to protect herself. But I knew better. I knew Stella was a good sister, a caring soul who had been tragically caught in the whirlwind of my mother's toxic obsession.