Shirley's Dilemma

Shirley

“Shirley, can you wake up, please? We don’t have an entire day just to wait for you. My husband and children will be late all because of you.”

That was my mother, her voice sharp and loud as always. She had shouted my name every morning for as long as I could remember, and though I had grown used to it, it still made my heart sink a little.

“I’m coming, Mom,” I replied, jumping out of bed as fast as I could. I had overslept again today, and panic coursed through me. Breakfast was my responsibility, and my mother never cooked. She said it was because she hated it, but I never understood why I always had to bear the burden.

Being the eldest daughter in my family came with endless duties. I was almost eighteen, in my final year at Greenland High School, and yet my parents treated me like a servant at home. My father, Travis Williams, was a famous lawyer, while my mother, Hannah, owned a popular restaurant. They were both well-off, yet they never seemed to care about my achievements or struggles.

I had two siblings, Olivia, my little sister, and Lucas, my younger brother. Olivia was seven, with long black hair, pink lips, and large eyes framed by long lashes. She was beautiful, and my mother’s darling. Lucas was six, and he looked so much like Olivia that sometimes strangers mistook them for twins. The age gap between me and my siblings was significant, eleven years with Olivia and twelve with Lucas, but that didn’t make my parents treat me any better.

I came out of my room to find the whole family seated at the dining table, waiting for me. Usually, breakfast was already prepared, but not today. My father, as expected, wasted no time.

“Who are you to keep us hungry like this? You’ve become so lazy, stup*d girl,” he snapped, his harsh tone making my chest ache.

I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears. “I am sorry, Dad. I overslept. It won’t happen again,” I said, moving quickly to prepare the coffee and eggs.

By the time breakfast was ready, my mother had already begun criticizing me. “This food tastes horrible. When will you learn how to cook properly?” she said. I almost broke down in front of them. Why couldn’t they see I was trying my best? Every morning, I prepared breakfast, fed the children, ensured their homework was done, and still, my efforts were never enough.

After feeding everyone, my father ushered Olivia and Lucas to the car for school. I had to walk, as usual. Despite our wealth, my parents never gave me a ride, as if their cars were only meant for the “important” members of the family.

“Where are you going, young lady? Who will do the cleaning?” my mother shouted when I tried to leave the table.

“I’ll wash them later, Mom. I have to finish my project,” I replied.

“You should have woken up earlier! Just do your duties,” she snapped. I obeyed, cleaning the plates while feeling the weight of their constant criticism pressing down on me.

* * * * * * * *

Finally, I managed to shower and get ready, selecting a blue dress that hugged my curves, applying mascara and lipstick to give myself a little bit of confidence. I grabbed my boots and bag and ran out the door, hoping I would not be late for school. The morning routine left me exhausted before my day even began, but this was my life, one filled with chores, responsibilities, and the constant pressure of parental neglect.