An elderly woman from a small Caribbean island trades her daughter to a wealthy man for riches.
The daughter, Isabella, is now forced to leave the Caribbean to Europe-betrothed to a cruel older man she refuses to spend the rest of her life with.
A...
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TW: hints at sexual assault
My feet press against the dry grass with each step taken while passing other homes in the town. The afternoon sun was still beaming down, casting a warm glow and heat on the Caribbean island.
My light green skirt lifted slightly, my inner thighs rubbing against each other as I walked up the hill back to my mother's house with fresh produce.
Yet this time, as I approached what was my home, the view wasn't the same.
Before I could unlock the gate I noticed an elegant vehicle parked in front. Normally wealthy people- rich enough to afford such a thing don't come towards this side of the island.
I looked at it in confusion and noticed a bearded man seated in the driver's seat leaning on the window gazing in the opposite direction, unaware of my presence.
I ignored it and walked up the cement stairs on the side of our yellow house, unlocked the gate then the door, and entered.
Usually, around this time, my mother would be in the living room catching up on a novel, the news, or an animal documentary show pero she wasn't doing either. "Ma?" I call out.
"Mami," I call out again, then a voice of an unfamiliar man comes from the kitchen.
I enter the kitchen to see my mother standing by the counter with a pale man in a suit standing on the other side. "Hello." He makes immediate eye contact and smiles as he reaches his hand out.
I step back, confused and startled and not wanting to touch him. "Mami, who's this?" I ask her in Spanish as the white man looks between us.
She fiddles with her unpainted nails.
"I got ingredients for dinner," I say while placing the bag on the kitchen counter as the small room remains silent.
"This is you're fiance Mija." She blurts out.
I flinch at her statement and furrow my brows "¿Que?" I ask, taking a step away.
"This man offered mucho dinero to marry you." She speaks calmly.
"What?" I question out loud.
"Mi amor, he's rich. And handsome, he's-"
"I'm not marrying him." I take a look at him, examining him more than before.
He's not handsome.
"I'm not marrying a stranger." Normally I wouldn't speak to her in such an abrupt tone, but right now getting slapped for being disrespectful and raising my voice at her isn't my utmost concern.
