Beloved Amara

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Crack!

The unmistakable sound of glass shattering echoed from the living room, followed by the thud of something heavy hitting the floor. Without a doubt, the flower vase on the living room table must had been knocked over.

Amara's hand froze mid-air, a dishcloth dropping onto the counter. She placed the clean plate back into the sink and turned her gaze toward the commotion.

Amara, an Asian-Caucasian, at 26, possessed a natural elegance that needed no embellishment. Her clothes were simple but always immaculately kept, lending her a grace that didn't rely on extravagance. No heavy makeup adorned her face; she rarely bothered with such things. Instead, her beauty lay in her simplicity. Her brown hair, often swept back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way during her busy days, fell softly onto her shoulders, with gentle curls framing her face. The sunlight streaming through the windows lit up her green eyes, highlighting a calm, understated elegance that softened her entire appearance.

In her childhood, her friends had playfully called her "Mother Mary" due to her serene features and her tendency to look more like a European than her peers.

Despite her striking looks, Amara never had the time to pursue romantic relationships. Marriage was even further from her mind, as her days were consumed with family responsibilities and obligations.

"Amara... Amara!"

Her stepmother, Mrs. Mya Thwe, called out sharply from the other room, her voice dripping with impatience and irritation. It wasn't an uncommon tone in their household.

Amara sighed deeply, her breath steadying her before she turned toward the living room.

What now? she thought, bracing herself for the familiar scene. She knew what was coming.

Amara's life bore an uncanny resemblance to Cinderella's. Her mother had passed away when she was a child, leaving her in the care of her father and her stepmother. However, unlike the Cinderella story, her father was still alive, and her stepsister Shirley was not merely a wicked rival but her half-sister, sharing their father's blood. Even though the tension came, instead, from her stepmother's constant disapproval and demands, Amara wasn't lowered to live as a servant, yet she often felt the weight of those family burdens.

Under her father's protection, she had been able to attend a medical school and had successfully graduated and works as a doctor at a hospital. But no amount of education shielded her from her stepmother's sharp words or the constant chores that awaited her at home.

For all the scolding and the responsibilities that piled upon her, Amara knew that her life could be worse if she can't manage properly. So, she was determined not to let it break her.

= = = = =

There was a whole mess filled the living room. As expected, the porcelain vase on the table had broken, and its pieces scattering across the floor. Amara glanced up from the kitchen to her way to the living room with her lips tightening in irritation.

"I just changed those flowers this morning," she muttered under her breath.

"And this spoiled brat breaks it within hours. Daddy and Aunt Mya have never been able to control her—she's been pampered her whole life."

Her stepmother's sharp voice broke her thoughts.

"Amara, can you clean up the broken glass? Your sister's rampaging, and she's going to hurt herself."

Amara ignored the request, her eyes narrowing at Shirley, who was throwing a tantrum in the living room. Shirley Barnett, three years younger than her, shared Amara's brown hair and inherited their father's fair skin and green iris. Yet, despite their similarities, Shirley's life couldn't be more different than a Westerner.