Become a model?

-ANASTASIA, says my mother

Waking up in the morning was punctual to my mother's booming voice, a family melody that marked the start of each day. Still numb from sleep, I drag myself out of bed, my eyelids heavy with fatigue. The first rays of the sun were barely penetrating through the curtains.

In the living room, I found my mother and father, accompanied by my sister. Their faces were lit with a glow of excitement, and their hands were waving around a flyer.

My half-closed eyes tried to focus on the paper they were holding.

-Maybe we found you a new job, my mother said rudely, throwing a leaflet in my face.

She says it like it's the most revolutionary discovery of the century, I thought sarcastically.

I pick up the flyer falling to the floor and my eyebrows furrow as I stare at the words printed on the page.

-Become a model, I read aloud, letting the sarcasm pierce my voice slightly.

My mother ignores my tone and laughs.

-We think you should try your luck, maybe you have potential, added my father with a tone of voice betraying great doubt

The word "potential" echoed in my head, a cruel irony that seemed to mock me. Did they seriously think my snow-white hair was a ticket to fame? Yet in their eyes I could see the glimmering hope, the idea that maybe, just maybe, I might be noticed.

It was ironic because my father, in particular, had always hated my white hair, judging it as an anomaly, a mark of difference that he couldn't stand. But now he seemed ready to exploit them, to use them as an asset for his own ambitions.

I looked down at the ground, often feeling tired and vulnerable. Was that all they saw in me? An opportunity to make money, whatever the means?

My sister Enora remained silent, observing the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. I knew she had always been closer to me than to our parents, an ally in this world where we seemed to be the outsiders.

I clench my fists, feeling the anger rising within me. They didn't like me, I was just a fucking means for them to achieve their own goals, a puppet in their game.

Silence settles in the room, heavy and heavy. My thoughts were swirling in my head, a whirlwind of frustration and sadness. I just looked at them, my eyes filled with silent determination. They can't control me, not this time.

-I have to go to work, I tell them, appear, I'll leave you

-We'll talk about it, said my mother in an uncompromising tone.