Chapter Four

Isabella tapped her fingers on the wooden dining table, gripping her phone in the other hand as she pressed it to her ear. When the call dropped again, she exhaled sharply. Frustration

flared in her chest. She shoved the chair back with her leg, the wood scraping against the floor with an ear splitting screech.

Running her fingers through her tangled hair, she paced the small dining room. Her pulse pounded as she frantically redialled the number. It rang—once, twice—then silence.

Again.

“What have I done?” she whispered, sinking to her knees. Her head dropped, fingers twisting into her hair.

“Hand me the lyric notes, and I’ll call you once I go through them. I just need to see if there are any lines we need to refine.”

Isabella gritted her teeth as she recalled Nelson’s words. How could she have been so naive? How could she have complied so easily and handed over her lyric notes?

He had promised to produce her song. He had sworn he would help her.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away.

He wouldn’t steal my lyrics.

She took a shaky breath, tightening her grip on her phone before redialling his number. Again, it went to voicemail.

He looked so sincere—so eager to help, not deceive me—

A fragile hope clung to her chest.

Maybe something had happened. Maybe he would call her back.

Maybe—

She nodded, trying to steady her trembling hands.

She had spent countless nights crafting those lyrics. Not one or ten, but an entire collection of songs, each woven with dreams she refused to let die. Even when there was no hope that she would ever record them, she kept writing. She daydreamed of standing on stage, thousands of fans screaming her name. She imagined the warmth of studio lights, the weight of headphones pressing against her ears, her voice pouring into the mic with her eyes shut.

She believed in her dream. She had never stopped writing, never stopped singing, as if success were just around the corner.

Music made her feel alive in a way nothing else did. Nothing gave her the same thrill, the same passion, the same sense of purpose. But still every day, doubt slithered into her mind, whispering cruel questions. Did she truly know what she was doing?

Then Nelson appeared. He praised her voice, promised to help her career, and for the first time in so long, hope soared inside her. She had floated on air, her heart glowing with anticipation. She had stayed up late, checking her phone obsessively. But in the end, all she found was betrayal.

He had stolen her lyrics.

She had known Nelson as a respected producer, working with famous artists. The day she met him had felt like fate. A blessing.

If only she had known. If only she had seen through the lies.

“Isa! Isa!” Her younger brother’s high-pitched voice sliced through her thoughts like a blade.

Here he comes again…

Before she could react, the boy hurled himself at her, wrapping his tiny arms around her neck, nearly knocking the air out of her.

“Get off me!” Isabella shouted, shoving him away.

David tumbled backward, his small body hitting the floor with a painful thud. A sharp gasp escaped Isabella’s lips. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, reaching for him.

Before she could touch him, her mother shoved her aside, sending her sprawling. Her phone clattered to the floor, and pain shot through her skull as her head hit the ground. She groaned, clutching her throbbing scalp.

“How dare you push my son, you fool!” Isabella’s mother’s voice rang through the room, sharp as a whip.

Blinking through the haze of pain, Isabella struggled to rise. Her mother loomed over her, fury blazing in her eyes.

David’s wails filled the air as he clung to his mother, burying his face in her dress.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Isabella stammered, chewing her lower lip. Her gaze flickered to David, his uniform crumpled, his face streaked with tears.

Her mother smoothed his hair, murmuring soft reassurances. “It’s okay, darling.”

David sniffled, nodding as his sobs quieted into muffled whimpers.

Then her mother turned. Ice replaced the warmth in her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Isabella whispered. “I was just angry—”

“Angry?” Kelly snapped. “Angry because your brother was happy to see you?”

“No! No!” Isabella shook her head. “I—I lost my lyric notes. Someone stole them. I—”

Kelly’s laughter cut her off. Cold. Hollow.

Isabella stiffened, feeling as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over her.

“I need to know, Isa,” Kelly scoffed. “How much have you made from this so-called music career?”

Isabella’s stomach twisted. She bit her lip harder, her fingers clutching the worn fabric of her baggy jeans. Her blonde hair fell over her face as if shielding the shame in her eyes.

“You’ll be twenty-four this May, and you still act like a child!” Kelly’s voice trembled with rage. “I sent you to school so you could find a good job. Build a real life. But no—” She smirked. “You choose music. You chase a pipe dream, comparing yourself to singers whose parents have money to back them, while your own mother has nothing.”

She took a step closer, yanking David along with her.

“You think music will ever give you the life you want? You think music will save us? Lift us out of this life? Such a foolish dream.” Kelly scoffed.

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Each word scorched her like fire.

“Then tell me, Isa—” Kelly leaned in, voice razor-sharp. “How much have you made from your music?”

Isabella’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Her breath hitched. Tears spilled down her cheeks, splattering onto the floor like raindrops.

“Please…” she sobbed. “Please, Mum…”

“I’m fed up!” Kelly roared.

David flinched, gripping her hand tighter, his face hidden in her dress.

“For how long, Isabella? You drop every job, making excuses for your laziness! Look at you.” Kelly’s gaze swept over her daughter with disgust. “No friends. No boyfriend. No accomplishments.”

Her mother’s voice lowered, trembling with restrained fury. “You were there when our neighbour’s daughter bought a car for her mother. And what have you done? I am still feeding you!”

Isabella clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as silent tears traced a path from her nose to her lips.

“Everyone spits on me wherever I go.” Kelly heaved a sigh and looked away as tears brimmed in her eyes. She sniffled and wiped her tears. “You’ve always made me unhappy. I watch my friends’ daughters doing well, taking care of their mothers, but here you are—” Her voice trembled. She pressed her lips together as if trying to suppress the rest of her words.

“Let’s go, Dav.” She wiped her tears and lifted the boy into her arms.

David buried his face in the crook of his mother’s neck, his body shivering.

Kelly smoothed his hair, her eyes gleaming with affection. “If you claim to be useless,” she whispered, her gaze fixed on the child, “then my son will be useful. I’ll put all my trust and hope in him from now on.” She threw Isabella a final look before walking past her into the house.

Isabella’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. A sob tore from her throat as her nails dug into her skin.

She had always dreamed of making her mother proud, of changing their lives for the better. She had imagined it so many times—her mother’s smile, her joy when she finally succeeded. But no one believed in her. No one understood.

“And you actually believe that? Do you even have the money to produce a song? Well—it’s nice to dream.”

Her friends had laughed, mocking her after hearing her vision.

“No, no,” one of them had said, nudging the others. “Isa just reads too many motivational quotes.” Angel had winked at her, covering her mouth as she giggled. “I saw Isa reading them in class one day. She even wrote ‘Nothing limits you but yourself’.”

The whole class had erupted into laughter.

Isabella buried her face in her palms at the memory, her body trembling. Sweat beaded her skin.

“Has Isa stopped going to work again?” a neighbour had once asked her mother as they walked to the market.

Her mother had thrown a look at her and forced a smile at the woman, gripping the basket in her hands. “Not really. Isa is sick. She’ll be resuming soon.”

“Oh.” The neighbour’s voice dripped with scorn as she eyed Isa.

Her mother’s tear-filled eyes flashed through Isabella’s mind as her voice echoed, “I’m fed up!”

Maybe—

Maybe they were right.

Isa’s shoulders slumped. Her arms dropped to her lap. She stared at the wooden floor, her brown eyes misted with tears.

I must be a disgrace to her.

She sniffled, hiccuping as she wiped her tears, but they kept flowing. She shook her head.

Everyone can’t be lying.

Her breath hitched.

“Not everyone can be wrong…” Her voice broke. Her lips quivered as she pressed them together, her hands balling into fists. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her head, palms flat against the ground. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed.

********************************************************************************

Gnawing at her fingernails, Isabella’s brown eyes remained glued to the laptop screen. Her right hand gripped the mouse as she scrolled through endless job listings. Her left hand rested on the desk, cluttered with scattered books.

A few days ago, her aunt had mentioned a secretary job opening, but by the time she applied, the position was already filled. Now, as she scoured the internet once more, her gaze landed on another listing—a personal assistant role at the second most renowned painting company in Drahesk City. Excitement surged through her.

Without hesitation, she clicked the application link and quickly filled out her CV.

Leaning back, she exhaled, watching as the message appeared on the screen: “We will get back to you within four days.”

Her heart sank, the hopeful spark in her chest dimming. Four days felt like an eternity. Pulling her legs onto the chair, she folded her arms beneath her head as if using them as a pillow. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re still a kid, Isa,” her aunty’s voice echoed in her mind. “Every child dreams big, fantasizes about the world. But once you become an adult, life slams into you, forcing you to wake up to reality.”

She blew out a frustrated breath, sending a stray wisp of tousled blonde hair fluttering from her face.

“She’s right,” she muttered, the thought tightening her chest.

But why? Why can’t we just do what we want? You must go to school, graduate, work a stable job, get married, have children.

It feels like we have no choice.

Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes, and she sniffled.

I own my life.

Or maybe that was just another childish illusion.

Her mother had lost everything. Deceived. Betrayed. Left with nothing but heartbreak and disappointment.

Isabella still remembered her father’s promises—how he swore to give them the world. He was a wealthy man, after all. He had ensured she attended one of the best high schools in the city. But beneath the facade of security lay a lie. Her mother had discovered the truth too late: he was already married. Fifteen years of empty vows, and still, he had denied her marriage.

Then he died. And they inherited nothing.

Her mother had tried to move on, remarried an average working-class man, and had Isabella’s younger brother. For a while, happiness seemed possible. But five months later, he was gone too. No note. No goodbye. Just silence. She left her mother alone to struggle.

And what had Isabella done?

She chewed her lower lip, guilt hollowing her chest.

She had betrayed her mother’s sacrifices. Instead of helping, she had selfishly chased after dreams—flitting from one job to another like a butterfly drifting aimlessly on the wind.

I should have been a better daughter. Like the ones next door, who brought their parents pride instead of shame.

The realization struck hard. If she had truly cared, she would have worked harder. She wouldn’t have let her mother carry the weight alone.

Isabella pressed her lips together and clasped her hands, her fingers entwining as a new resolve took shape inside her.

I can still fix this.

Her heartbeat quickened. Silently, she prayed for her application to be accepted. If she got this job, she could finally prove herself. She could make things right. A quiet determination settled over her as she ran a hand over her baggy jeans.

But music.

She hesitated, the thought creeping in: What have I gained from music? Nothing but disgrace and shame.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. No, music hadn’t brought her anything except disappointment. It was time to let go of childish dreams. Time to build a better life.

She reached for the laptop, ready to shut it down—

Then she saw it.

A post.

Angel.

Isabella’s breath hitched.

Angel sat on a swivel chair, legs crossed elegantly. A sharp black suit hugged her frame, the classic lawyer’s robe draped over her shoulders, and the traditional lawyer’s cap perched perfectly on her sleek bob. Her round face was soft and pink, her midnight-dark eyes shimmering with triumph. She had finally been called to the bar. No longer a student lawyer. A professional. Behind her, her parents stood tall, their smiles wide, their eyes gleaming with pride. Both had their hands firmly on her shoulders—a silent declaration to the world: This is our daughter.

Something twisted inside Isabella’s chest.

Envy.

Her body grew unbearably warm.

Without thinking, she slammed the laptop shut.

Her mother’s disappointed expression flashed in her mind. The teary eyes. The trembling hands clutching the basket. The murmured apologies as their neighbours questioned her about Isabella’s choices.

Frustration roiled inside her. In one swift motion, she shoved the books off her desk. They tumbled to the floor, pages splaying open like fallen leaves.

My mother should have been proud too. Her eyes should have shone like that.

She had been reckless.

Naïve.

She had believed in something fleeting, something intangible. And now, it was too late.

Isabella could still hear the argument—the way her mother had pleaded.

“I don’t want to be a lawyer! I want to be a singer! A star!”

Her mother’s hands had gripped her shoulders. Her voice had been steady, firm. “Isa, I just want you to have a good life. A future, like your peers. How will you feel years from now, watching them succeed while you...”

“No!” Isabella had interrupted. “I won’t live like anyone else. I own my life. I am my own boss!”

Her mother had slapped her.

“Boss?” she had scoffed bitterly. “Who told you that you own your life? The world is watching you.”

Now, years later, the words finally sank in.

Her mother had been right.

A sharp sob broke from Isabella’s throat. She rose from her chair, dragging her feet through the mess of fallen books, and collapsed onto her bed. Tangled in a heap of clothes, she buried her face into the pillow, muffling her cries. Tears soaked the fabric.

“I must do better from now on. I must make my mother proud,” she whispered through clenched teeth, the pillow clutched tightly in her arms.

Tears threatened to escape, but she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them back. This time, she wouldn’t fail. Not for herself—for her mother.

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