THE FIRST MISFORTUNE: RIFT

Stella woke up to the harsh buzz of her alarm, its shrill sound echoing off the cracked and peeling walls of her small, dingy room. The paint, once a bright and cheerful yellow, had faded to a sickly, dull hue, flaking off in large patches. A single, bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim, yellowish glow over the space, barely illuminating the mismatched furniture. The bed she lay on creaked as she shifted, the springs groaning under her weight. A thin, threadbare blanket was tangled around her legs, offering little warmth in the cool morning air. The room smelled faintly of mildew, a scent that never quite disappeared no matter how often she cleaned.

She yawned, staring at the ceiling, where a spider web clung to the corner, its creator long gone. A small leak had left a dark stain above her bed, a constant reminder of the rain that had dripped through just a few days ago. Turning her head, she looked toward the window, where the curtains hung limply, heavy with dust. The morning light barely penetrated the thick, grimy glass.

With a sigh, Stella sat up, yawning again as she stretched, arching her back like a cat. Her thin, oversized sleeve slipped down her arm, and she pulled it up absentmindedly as she stood. The wooden floor creaked under her bare feet as she padded over to the window. She reached out, her fingers fumbling with the tangled curtains before finally pulling them apart. The dull, grey light of dawn spilled into the room, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air.

She unlocked the window with a twist, the old metal latch stiff from years of neglect. With a little effort, she pushed the window open, and a cool breeze rushed in, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and blooming flowers. The fresh air felt like a balm against her skin, and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The morning was serene, the world still and quiet in those early hours.

Stella opened her eyes and gazed out at the street below. It was a pretty road, lined with old, weathered houses, each one unique in its own way. The cobblestone path, worn smooth from years of use, glistened with morning dew. Small patches of wildflowers had sprouted between the stones, their vibrant colors standing out against the grey. A few trees dotted the sidewalk, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The street was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or the distant hum of a car.

But her peace was suddenly broken by a familiar voice. "Hey, Stells!"

Stella's gaze shifted across the street, where her boyfriend, Janed, was standing at his window, grinning at her. His house, though older, was well-kept, with freshly painted shutters and a neatly trimmed lawn. She couldn’t help but smile back, her heart lifting at the sight of him. His warm, morning greetings were always the best part of her day, a small slice of happiness in an otherwise dreary existence.

She waved at him, a wide smile spreading across her face, her eyes crinkling into cheerful crescents. "Good morning, Janed," she called out softly, her voice carrying easily in the stillness of the morning.

"Good morning, love," he replied, his own smile just as bright. They didn’t need to shout; the street was so quiet that even their low voices were enough to carry across the distance.

"I'm gonna go freshen up now, babe," Janed said, his smile lingering as he waved at her.

Stella nodded, her smile unwavering. "Yes, same," she replied, her voice warm.

"Okay, cool. See you at school," Janed said, giving her one last smile before he pulled his curtains closed.

Stella watched as his window disappeared behind the thick fabric, then turned back to her room. The sight of the leaky ceiling greeted her once again, and she sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the day already pressing down on her. She needed to get ready, so she trudged to the small bathroom connected to her room.

The bathroom was no better than her bedroom, with cracked tiles and a sink that dripped constantly, the water staining the porcelain a rusty orange. The mirror above the sink was clouded with age, its surface marred by countless scratches. Stella brushed her teeth and washed her face, the cold water doing little to wake her up fully. An hour later, she emerged, dressed in her school uniform: a grey skirt that hung just above her knees, a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into the waistband, and a black blazer that was just a little too tight around her shoulders. She tied her hair up into a neat bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face.

As she stepped out of her room, a familiar scent hit her nose—chiles en nogada. The rich, spicy aroma filled the small house, overwhelming her senses. Once, the smell had brought her comfort, reminding her of the days when her mother would cook the dish, filling their home with warmth and love. But now, the scent made her gag, a painful reminder of what she had lost. Her mother was gone, had been for years, and yet this dish, her mother’s specialty, was still being made.

She knew why.

"Father! Do you have to make this first thing in the morning?" Stella snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

Her father, Miguel, turned around from the stove, a gentle smile on his face. "Odette likes this, honey. And I know you do too—"

"That was when my mother was still here!" Stella cut him off, her voice rising with anger and pain.

Before Miguel could respond, Odette appeared in the doorway, her figure framed by the soft light spilling from her bedroom. She was wearing a provocative nightgown, the silky fabric clinging to her curves. In her arms, she cradled the house cat, Bella, stroking its fur with long, delicate fingers. The cat purred softly, its eyes half-closed in contentment.

Odette’s voice was smooth and sweet as honey when she spoke, but Stella knew better. "What's the commotion about, Bella?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at Stella. To anyone else, it might have sounded like a term of endearment, Odette calling her beautiful, but Stella knew the truth. Odette was mocking her, comparing her to the cat she held in her arms, a mere pet, living under her roof and at her mercy.

Stella’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She had had enough. "I'll make sure," she began, her voice trembling with suppressed rage, "that you and your dear husband, Miguel, leave this house as soon as you can."

Without waiting for a reply, Stella grabbed her bag from the chair by the door and stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind her. She didn’t bother touching the breakfast her father had made. The smell of it lingered in her nose as she walked away, a bitter reminder of everything that had been taken from her.

Odette let out an exasperated sigh, her frustration palpable as she watched Stella storm out of the house. Her gaze shifted to Miguel, who was busy setting the table with practiced efficiency. Odette sauntered over to him, her movements deliberate and sensual. She brushed her right arm seductively around his neck, attempting to draw his attention. But Miguel’s mind was elsewhere; his eyes, though warm, were clouded with concern for his daughter.

Odette felt a pang of irritation but masked it with a forced smile. She took a seat at the chair opposite Miguel, her posture exuding casual elegance as she crossed her legs and rested her hands delicately on her lap. Her thoughts raced, calculating the next steps in her elaborate scheme to maintain her position in Miguel’s life.

Miguel, engrossed in preparing the table, appeared oblivious to Odette’s subtle advances. His love for Stella was evident in the worry etched on his face, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. Odette chewed on her lower lip, her gaze fixed on Miguel as she mulled over her precarious situation. She had managed to secure her place in Miguel’s life—his wealth, his handsome looks, and the grand house that came with him.

Her success, however, came with its own set of challenges. She had made sure Miguel never ventured into Stella’s room, a task she accomplished by keeping the door firmly shut and threatening Stella to ensure compliance. Miguel’s long work hours meant he was rarely home to notice the disarray, but his affection for Stella was a thorn in her side. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t completely wrap him around her finger. His paternal love remained a barrier to her complete control, leaving her simmering with frustration.

***

As Stella made her way to school, she trudged along the street with a heavy heart. The half-hour walk was a daily routine for her, one she preferred over the bus for the chance to clear her mind. Her bag hung heavily from her shoulder, and she pulled out a textbook, seeking solace in its pages. The morning had already been a series of unfortunate events, and as she flipped through the book, she felt a sharp sting on her finger. A papercut had broken her focus, and she winced, pulling her finger away.

“Ugh. That hurt,” she muttered under her breath, frustration evident in her tone. Just then, a familiar hand landed gently on her shoulder.

“Hey babe,” Janed’s voice was soft and reassuring. Stella looked up, her expression brightening as she met his warm gaze. Janed’s eyes twinkled with his signature wink before they settled on her finger, now marked by the small cut.

“Oh. It’s hurting, isn’t it?” Janed asked, concern lacing his words. He reached into his bag, producing a small first aid kit. With practiced care, he cleaned the tiny wound and applied a bandaid. Stella watched, touched by his thoughtfulness, her earlier frustrations momentarily forgotten.

“Thank you, Janed. My day started completely shit today,” she said, her voice softening with genuine appreciation.

“Was it lady Odette?” Janed asked, his tone suggesting that he was already aware of the source of her troubles.

Stella nodded, her face darkening with the weight of her displeasure. “Yeah. She’s unbearable.”

Janed took her bag from her shoulders, offering a comforting smile. “Let’s talk about it,” he suggested. They linked arms, the simple gesture providing Stella with a sense of security.

As they walked together toward the school, Stella began to vent about Odette, her words flowing freely. Janed listened intently, his presence a balm to her frayed nerves. This exchange was one of the best parts of their relationship—an understanding that went beyond mere conversation. They knew when to offer a listening ear, and for Stella, it was a respite from the tumultuous world she navigated daily.