Chapter 3

The money arrived that afternoon, and before I knew what the next step was, I was sitting in a car with my mother on my way to try on the wedding dress.

The car ride was silent. None of us wanted to speak with the other. If I hated my father because of his biased love toward Melinda, I could not stand my mother. Every time the two of us were in the same room, a fight would break out. It could be because of the way I looked at something, the way I talked, the way I walked, or in some cases the way I breathed. That summed up our whole relationship.

A relationship built upon hateful words and lost hope.

The younger me had shed so many tears — hoping that the woman who had birthed her would take one look at her — but the love she longed for never came, and I had long learned to move on and love myself rather than wait for the pathetic drop of love they had to offer. They had exhausted all their love on Melinda and wanted me to accept the disgusting drop that remained. What did they take me for? I was not a beggar starving for food. Neither would I accept something that did not belong to me fully.

“When you marry into the Demilia family, don’t be like this. Learn how to be a woman, behave yourself, and learn how to obey your husband.” Her words were calm and faint, said so carefully that if I answered back, I would seem like the unreasonable daughter.

Like mother, like daughter.

“I have no desire to obey a man, and I don’t think my attitude is a problem, Mother.” I spat out the word mother like it was poison on my tongue.

Playing stupid in order to keep a man was not something I would resort to. If he could not accept me for who I was, then there was nothing I could do about it — changing myself to mirror the perfect woman he wanted was out of the question.

My mother had spent her whole life mirroring the perfect wife, the perfect mother, and everything our society wanted her to be, yet look at her. She was miserable beyond words and had no character, for which her husband now despised her.

I had heard the words he used when he talked about her to his friends at one occasion. No flavor, a stone, and a statue in bed. Those were the words the man she loved used to describe her behind her back. Even though I did not feel anything special for this mother of mine, I still felt sorry for her. She had poured everything she had into her husband’s cup, yet her own remained empty.

My mother remained silent the rest of the car ride. This was how she was — she would give her useless advice and keep quiet the moment you went against her beliefs. Maybe that was why she and Melinda were the perfect mother-and-daughter duo.

Soon the car rolled in front of the dress boutique, and I got out of the car, not waiting for my mother as I opened the door to the store and entered. A worker stood in front of the register, and I walked up to her as I removed the sunglasses that held my black and silky hair out of my face.

“I am here to try on a wedding dress,” I said with a smile as I waited for her to look up from the computer she was staring at.

“Yes, can I please have the name on your booking?” she said politely as she flashed me a polite smile before turning her gaze back to the screen, ready to type the name I would give her.

“Wright,” I said, rolling my eyes.

A few things annoyed me in this world, but something that never failed to annoy me  was my mother’s dependence on my father. What business did he have in a wedding dress booking when she booked it in his name? Did she not have her own name she could have used?

“Yes, miss, your dress is ready in room 21. You can go in and try on the dress. If adjustments are needed, you can use the red button to call for assistance.” I gave the girl a polite thank you before I turned around and left.

I entered the room and tried on the dress before I admired myself in the mirror.

The dress was a strapless white gown with a fitted bodice and a full skirt. The fabric has silver embroidery and a small decorative detail of a rose that covered the front of the dress. The skirt was long and extended into a short train behind me. I was also wearing long white satin gloves that reached above my elbows.

Of course she would choose to wear gloves — she could not risk people knowing the perfect Melinda was indeed imperfect.

My tanned skin and long black hair that reached down to my lower back contrasted sharply with the white dress, making the details of the gown more visible. I looked like an ethereal bride, so beautiful I would turn heads when I walked down the aisle. Yes, I give myself compliments — so what? No one else would give them to me, so I might as well do it myself.

I stepped out of the dressing room and saw my mother sitting on the couch with a perfect sitting pose, afraid that someone would catch her sitting like a normal human being for once.

She lifted her eyes and took in everything — the dress, the hair, and my skin. I could not put my finger on what she was thinking, but what I knew for sure was that she had not expected me to fit in this dress the way I was doing right now. I looked too good to find any faults.

“It looks good. It would have been the perfect dress for Melinda.” I rolled my eyes at her words, not listening to her as I turned toward the mirror, admiring myself.

“Drop it, Mother,” I said as I smoothed the fabric with my gloved hands. “Your daughter does not have the boobs nor the figure to wear this dress.”