Chapter 1 1. The Name I Was Given!
Saintilia's POV
“You’ll be okay TiTi, because you’re the prettiest in the village.”
At first, it seemed like a superficial thing, something to brush off with a smile. But as I grew older, I began to understand what he was saying, was that I was enough. I had something within me that made me worthy, that I could stand tall no matter what difficulty I faced. Those spoken words were embedded deep within me and became my shield against the harsh realities of life. They gave me the courage to face obstacles, to hold my head high when others tried to bring me low, to believe in myself even when the world seemed determined to make me doubt.
They were more than just a father’s proud boast but a lifeline, a reminder that I had a place in this world that I had value. They were the foundation upon which I built my resilience, the quiet strength that allowed me to survive. Even when things got tough and seemed impossible, when disappointment and heartbreak threatened to crush me. I could always remember that, in his eyes, I was enough, and that gave me the strength to keep fighting.
"You look just like your mother."
Those who knew Paulette would say, whenever they saw me. She was the embodiment of elegance and grace. They would recount tales of her sharp chestnut eyes that could pierce through any pretense and yet soften with a smile that radiated warmth and kindness. We were both tall, slim, curvy, and busty. Was it what they meant? I knew nothing more beyond the stories told by strangers and the rumors that surfaced after Jonas’s passing that she had taken her own life. I only wished she had lived long enough for me to have known her.
My fingers trace the lines of my own face, comparing them to her old photographs that Jonas kept tucked away in his wallet. The arch of my brows, the curve of my lips, trying to find the similarities that others seemed to see so clearly. My smile, though warm, didn’t quite carry the same grace. I felt a mix of sadness and acceptance, realizing that no matter what I can never quite see the resemblance. Sometimes, I wonder if the woman they described was nothing more than a beautiful myth.
I learned long ago that I could not long for something I never had. In the absence of a mother, I had been around many women throughout my life. In many ways those women had influenced me, each leaving their mark in different ways. Some were fleeting presences, offering wisdom in passing, while others lingered longer, becoming steady fixtures in my life. But it wasn't until I was eighteen when I met the one who would really try to be a mother to me: Victoria. She understood my emptiness because she herself had grown up with the same hollow space where a mother should have been.
In retrospect, Paulette's death was shrouded in a silence so deep it felt like a forbidden secret. Even Jonas, my father, could never bring himself to discuss it. I was too young then to press for details, and he believed it was unnecessary to burden me with them. He would simply assure me, his voice firm yet gentle, that Paulette had loved me beyond measure.
Holding that certainty in my heart, I walked through life with a newfound pride. I carried not just the echo of my mother's face, but the very essence of her spirit. Standing before the mirror, I finally saw it. I saw not just my own reflection, but a living legacy of strength. I saw the unbreakable thread of love connecting me to all the women. Some had loved me, and others had decieved me. But each in their own ways had woven the tapestry of my life, bringing me to this moment at the age of thirty.
I could not reminisce on the years that past simply because of all the hardship I had to endure. As a child, I was picked on a lot because of my hair that was long and often kept in the braids, or buns that were easiest to manage. At least, I thought that was the reason, until the moment my hair was wrapped in someone's fist, being pulled while they cursed me, completely unprovoked.
There was an incident that I vividly remember and probably will forever be engraved in my memory; I was sitting in front of a classmate during a school dance. Jonas had asked our neighbor, Adeline, to fix my hair, so there was absolutely no reason for it to annoy anyone. Ellie and I were friends, I thought. But out of nowhere, her fingers were in my hair, pulling sharply, and she was calling on the others to join in. As a child, I couldn’t understand why my friend would behave like that. I did not do wrong to her, but later on; I understood it was the influence of others that made her behave that way. Ever since that day, making friends was not easy for me so, I had to keep my distance from everyone because I couldn’t trust the friendship of others.
I was teased just as much; my straight nose, bright eyes, and long lashes somehow did not fit the norm; so I was considered weird looking to the neighborhood children, and became a target for kids and parents alike. My young life became unbearable, forcing Jonas to keem me home. School was no longer an option so our neighbor Celia became my teacher in her spare time. In Jona's mind, it was his way of protecting me.
My world didn't just become empty after his death; it felt hollowed out. His passing carved a deep silence within me, that my own loneliness became a physical presence. I made a choice: the only way to survive was to rely on no one but myself. I wore my solitude like a suit of armor, and I told myself, over and over, that there was a fierce, unbreakable strength in needing no one. People would sometimes say my courage was like a 'soaring kite.' I'd just nod, but inside I thought, a kite was held by a string. But my string was cut early on and I was just drifting away. My life, like anyone's, had been a mix of challenges and simple joy. I've learned to embrace them both. They weren't just random events; the very threads that had kept the story of my existence.
My name is Saintilia, but everyone calls me TiTi. It's a nickname that carried warmth and familiarity, the sound of a simpler time when life was predictable. But the woman trapped in this room feels a world away from the girl named Saintilia. My hips ached from lack of movements, even though I am permitted to walk the five steps to the lounge chair or stand by the window. Those few steps are the unsopken reality of my universe.