Wounds And Whispers 1: Echoes of Abandonment

9

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the dining table. Maya sat in her usual spot, feeling the familiar tension in her shoulders. The atmosphere was a blend of warmth and discomfort—Marga’s kindness and love surrounded her like a cozy blanket, but Victor’s cold, strict demeanor kept her on edge, never fully allowing her to relax.

Marga’s voice broke through her thoughts, cheerful and bright. “So, sweetheart, how do you feel about your second day in the workshop? Excited yet?” She leaned over, playfully tickling Maya’s side, a wide grin on her face.

Maya laughed, the sound a mix of genuine amusement and nerves. Despite the tickling, the same anxious thought nagged at her—what if she did something wrong? What if a single misstep made them turn on her? But for now, she let herself enjoy the moment. Marga's warmth helped ease the tension, and the flicker of excitement bubbling inside her grew stronger.

Suddenly, Victor’s voice cut through the light-hearted moment like a knife. He looked up from his newspaper, his expression stiff. “Art workshop? Why would you enroll her in something like that?” His words dripped with skepticism. “What’s next, Marga? Ballet lessons? This isn’t a hobby farm.”

Maya’s small, timid smile vanished in an instant. Her heart sank, and a wave of fear washed over her. She quickly lowered her gaze to her plate, avoiding Victor’s disapproving eyes, afraid that if he saw her looking at him, it would somehow make things worse. The excitement she’d felt earlier deflated, leaving her feeling smaller, like she was shrinking into herself.

Marga’s expression shifted, the gentle warmth in her eyes replaced with a fierce protectiveness. She straightened her posture, her voice calm but firm. “Maya is exploring her interests, Victor. Art is important for her growth, and you know that.” Her tone left no room for argument. “She deserves a chance to express herself without judgment.”

Maya held her breath, caught between the comforting safety of Marga’s defense and the cold indifference of Victor’s response. Her hands clenched under the table as she stared at Marga, silently pleading for reassurance. Does she really deserve this chance? The doubt gnawed at her.

Victor huffed, rolling his eyes as he returned to his newspaper, muttering something under his breath. Marga reached over, gently squeezing Maya’s hand. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said softly. “Your father’s just grumpy. Let’s focus on what makes you happy.”

Maya nodded slowly, a tiny flicker of belief reigniting within her, though the doubt still clung to the corners of her mind. As she stood up to leave the table, she briefly met Victor’s gaze. His expression wasn’t angry, but it showed clear disapproval, as if her interests were beneath him. In his mind, she knew he was thinking it was a waste of money and time.

The art workshop felt like a different world—a safe haven that contrasted with the tension of home. Maya stood at the entrance of the brightly lit room, her heart pounding as she took in the vibrant colors, the cheerful paintings on the walls, and the low hum of excited chatter. The scent of paint and paper filled the air, and for a moment, Maya forgot about the morning’s tension. She clutched her sketchbook tightly, her palms damp with nerves, but there was also a flutter of anticipation.

Ms. Sofia, their art teacher, greeted everyone with a warm smile. “Welcome back, everyone! I hope you’re all ready to explore your creativity today!” Her voice had a soothing, welcoming quality that immediately put Maya at ease.

But as the other kids around her began settling into their seats, Maya remained frozen by the door, uncertainty gripping her like a heavy weight. **What if my drawing isn’t good enough? What if the others laugh?** The thought of putting herself out there, of letting anyone see what she drew, made her stomach twist. She shifted nervously on her feet, unsure whether she should sit down at all.