Rekindled Love

Jasmine's Pov

The sun shone faintly; it was midsummer, and I was still in bed, tossing and turning. My thoughts were chaotic, swirling around my mind like a storm.

"Jasmine is a mistake," my father shouted angrily. His face was so hard, filled with rage, that it felt like he wanted to kill me. I hated my father with a passion.

He is cruel, taking pleasure in hurting my mother. "Jasmine is not my child," he keeps reminding her, and sometimes, I wonder if he believes it himself. In fact, I agree with him. I can't be his daughter when he is such a ruthless and dishonest man. My heart breaks for my mother, a lovely and beautiful woman who ended up with him. I remember her telling me that her parents betrothed her to him, as if it was some kind of cruel joke. My father's words keep echoing in my mind, tearing my heart into pieces-a father who harbors so much hatred for his own daughter.

It's always been my dream to attend Kisco High School, where I could pursue my passion for art and make something of myself. But when I told my father about it, he blurted out, "You are useless, and I won't waste my money on you." Those words cut deep, slicing through my self-esteem. I dreaded him so much that I sat staring at the ceiling, wondering what I could possibly do to prove I wasn't useless. I felt trapped in a life that seemed hopeless.

"Hey, Jasmine!" my mother called as she pushed open the door to my room.

Her voice brought me back to reality. I didn't even notice when she entered. "Mom, he hates me," I said, tears welling up in my eyes. "Don't worry; it will be okay," she said as she held me tightly, her embrace warm and comforting.

My mother is such a wonderful woman; she is my role model, and I adore her. She works so hard to make our lives better, often at her own expense.

"It was my dream, Mom, but he shattered it," I said as I clung to my painting, grasping a sheet filled with sketches of my dreams for the future.

"I have gotten a job; I will make sure you get that dream of yours," she replied, stroking my cheek gently, as if trying to wipe away my tears.

She has lost so much weight in the last four months; the stress of our situation has taken its toll on her. She lost her good-paying job, and because of that, I couldn't go further in school. Daddy always punches her-it terrifies me to see him do that to her. I wish I could make money; I would elope with her to make her happy; she deserves to be happy.

When I heard she got a job, a glimmer of hope sparked within me. Now, I'm applying for a scholarship at Kisco. "I love you, Mommy," I said, trying to lift her spirits.

I hugged her tightly, and she winced in pain when my hand accidentally brushed her stomach.

"Mom, are you okay?"

It struck me hard to see her in pain. I opened her shirt to see what was bothering her. I shut my eyes at what I saw. She had many scars around her stomach, ugly reminders of the violence she endured. It was infuriating and heartbreaking. I felt fear in her eyes, and I realized that my dad was indeed a monster.

"I'm sure he did this to you." I wasn't expecting her to say anything because she kept covering for him.

She struggles to accept that she is married to a beast.

"Your father is a nice man; don't think like that," she keeps telling me, but I know the truth.

My mother rarely shares anything with me about her life with my father, and it frustrates me. I still can't believe her parents betrothed her to him. Something must be behind this dead marriage. I can't see any love in it; my mom keeps dying in silence. She thinks I don't know what Dad is doing to her.

"No, Mom, he is a wicked man. Please stop defending him."

She shushed me, not allowing me to express how I see my father. "Dearly, he is your father; you know that," she said, almost pleading.

I don't want her to say that to me. She knows his hatred for me and the fact that he never views me as his daughter. He constantly tells me,

"No, Mom, he is not my dad."

I could argue that nature deceived me by making me his daughter, but I'm not sure I am. A DNA test would confirm my ancestry, but the thought of that seems impossible.

"I hope you are not holding grudges against your father; I have found a way for you to attend Kisco High School."

I already hate my father; he doesn't see me as his daughter. He says I'm useless and a mistake.

I can't make sense of anything; he has ruined my life and my mother's life. I hate him so much right now that I don't know what to say to her. She should understand that I'm not like her, who can bear his torment. He is awful, and he resembles a beast.

"Sweetie," she touched me gently, sensing that I was lost in thought.

"I hope you're not thinking about it."

She had noticed that I often got lost in my thoughts, my mind racing with dark images of my father's anger.

My mind is stuck on my father, which is why I can't concentrate anymore.

"No, Mom, it frightens me to see your eyes glistening with tears." "I can't hold it; I'm torn by emotions." I love her so much. I would do anything to make her happy. I wish I had the power to change things. I would become a beast and kill my father, then elope with my mom to a place where she could find comfort and safety.

She felt bad at that moment; she had no idea what to do-she was just a poor woman dancing to her husband's tune.

As I lay in bed that night, my thoughts spiraled out of control. I imagined a life where my mother could smile without fear, where we could be free from the grip of my father's cruelty. It was a dream that felt so far away, yet I clung to it with all my might.

My mother worked tirelessly, trying to make ends meet, and I wanted to help her. I wanted to take her away from all the pain and suffering. If only I could find a way to earn enough money to support us both. I daydreamed about painting my way into a better life, using my art to inspire others and to show the world that beauty could emerge from pain.

But every time I tried to focus on my dreams, my father's harsh words would creep back into my mind. He was always there, lurking like a dark shadow, ready to remind me of my worthlessness. I wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, that I was not a mistake.

Every night, as I lay in bed, I would close my eyes and picture a future where my mother and I were free-free to laugh, free to love, and free to live without fear. I imagined myself attending Kisco High School, surrounded by friends who supported and uplifted me. I could see myself painting vibrant canvases, my heart full of hope and joy.

But waking up to the reality of my situation was always a harsh reminder of my limitations. My father's control over our lives loomed large, and I felt powerless against it. The scars on my mother's body were reminders of the battles she fought silently every day. I wished I could be her protector, but instead, I felt like a helpless child.

As I drifted off to sleep, I clung to the hope that one day, things would change. I held on to the belief that my dreams were not as impossible as they seemed. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to break free from the chains of my father's tyranny and help my mother reclaim her life.

In the depths of my despair, I still believed in love, in beauty, and in the power of hope. And for that, I knew I had to keep fighting.

Jasmine's Pov

It's late at night, everyone has gone to bed, but dad isn't back yet. My mom was still awake, waiting for him to come so she could prepare him dinner.

I fling on my bed. I was trying to meditate. I don't know when I doze off.

Now I'm waken by dad's uproarious noise I could hear someone hitting something. "What's happening? I hope this man is not hitting Mom." I muster to myself as the sound continues to disrupt me.

I stood up to know what it was I was hearing as I got to my door. I quietly opened it because I was afraid to see that my dad was hitting my mom. I couldn't bear to see him beating my mom.

"Stupid woman, what do you know how to do, you and that your daughter is good for nothing," he yelled at her and hit her wooden chair on her head. She fell down unconsciously. I opened the door with so many tears in my eyes. I cast him a furious gaze. He is totally drunk.

I approached my unconscious mother, watching her as she lay helplessly on the floor, blood streaming from her mouth, bruises on her head. I couldn't help but cry. I gently placed my hand on her forehead, tightened her head back, and checked for her breathing.

I yelled for her to wake up, and she hiccuped and stood up, Mom, are you okay?" I asked her

she winced in pain as I hugged her.

"Where is it hurting you?" I asked her as her tears couldn't stop dripping. I feel like killing my father for causing her so much pain.

"I'm alright, sweetie," she feigned a smile to lighten up my mood.

I helped her to elevate and allowed her to rest as I went inside the kitchen to get ice packs. I snapped the kitchen light on. My eyes were shaken up by the sight of my father. He stood and cowered in one spot.

"Why are you still awake?" His voice was so adenoidal it was so annoying I cast him a fury gaze as I hid the ice pack I had at my back.

"I couldn't sleep." I sound so brittle that my hand was shaking and I couldn't concentrate. I just reminded myself of his punch, and fear crept over me.

"You couldn't sleep" means what? "You and your stupid mother are pissing me off in this house," he said, raising his arm in anger. Instantly, his arm swung swiftly like steel and imparted itself on me. My feet dangled in the air as I fell down with the ice pack. It broke into pieces. Fear bulged from my eyes. Seeing how furious he was looking, he gripped my hair and taunted, "Oh, are you trying to tell me that I'm hurting your mother?" He dragged me behind. He grabbed me.

"I told you to stop meddling with my business; is it hard to do?" He hit me like a sack and fled from the kitchen.

After he had left, I mustered some strength and left the kitchen to my mother, who is battling with strong pain.

"Dear, did he hurt you?" She asked me as she adjusted her laying position and pressed her hand on my cheek. It's really hurting so badly to pass another day in this house.

"Mom, I don't want to stay here again." I want to go somewhere very far from here. I feel like leaving this house, and my mother put her hand in my mouth to shut it and stop me from talking.

"Say no more, dear," she said to me. I can't imagine how much pain she has endured at the hands of my father.

Looking into her eyes, I can see pain coiling in them.

"He is a good man; don't worry, he will change." It feels like someone is pinching me each time she reminds me how good her wicked husband is.

She doesn't want to leave him, hoping that someday he will change. I don't know why she wants to stay here until she dies.

"I pray you will be alright," I said to her, noticing her eyes were hurting.

I have a little ice. I picked it up and pressed it into her bruises. She winced in pain as I pressed it into her wound. She is really suffering. I hope I can do something to take this burden away from here and from Daddy's torture.

She has not taken anything since morning; she has been away since morning to get me some food.

"Dear, open my bag; I got you something to eat," she said to me. I have been hungry since morning, and my stomach has been growling and making a funny sound. My mother is my world.

I went straight to her bag and pulled out a pack full of rice inside. I smiled as I opened it and tried to feed her. She refused to eat,

"I can't have it; you need to eat," I said to her, making her take some. She looks so fragile; she has lost her strength.

She agreed and joined me to eat. I wish I could change everything so I could take her and make her feel better because my father's beating is destroying her beauty. I wonder if he will ever change.

My mother's beauty has waned; she used to be as stunning as a dove, but now she appears so frail, and I pitied her in the hope that she will come out of this horrible situation.

She smiled, and her face lit up as I tightened my grip on her, telling her that I understood her suffering and that I would do anything to make her happy. I wish those smiles would never fade.

the universe made a mistake by creating me and as well with this kind of useless father I mustered to myself.

everything about my father is making me wacky.

Jasmine's Pov

I lay in my bed, attempting to meditate. I found myself daydreaming about my present, specifically how I had received scholarships to Kisco High School.

After a few deep breaths, I reopened my eyes and returned my awareness to my breath.

As I settled into the moment, I felt compelled to jot down my thoughts.

I opened my drawer and took out all my painting supplies. I began expressing my feelings on a piece of paper, using black paint to capture the fear coiling in my mother's and my own eyes. It's my fear of insanity, I guess, as I draft it.

"Jasmine, my dear," my mother called, breaking my concentration. I unlatched my room door and was pleasantly surprised to see her face glowing with a resplendent smile for the first time in a long while.

"I want you to prepare. You are going for the Kisco scholarship exams. I've worked hard to get this money so you can enter that school." She handed me $200.

That's a lot of money. I was both shocked and excited at the same time. Where did she get all this from? She must have suffered so hard to gather this money for me.

"Thank you, Mom; you are the best mom in the world." I hugged her tightly.

But just then, a dark shadow loomed over the moment. "I have said it time and time again: Jasmine can't make me proud; she's just useless." My dad, who had been eavesdropping on my conversations with Mom, intruded into our moment.

He was right, I thought bitterly. I had failed two scholarship exams I took long ago. It had been a long time since I had written an exam. Now, I was determined to rectify my mistake and make sure I passed this one.

"Jasmine, give me that money," my dad demanded. He snatched the money from my hand and pushed me aside as tears welled in my eyes.

My mom stood by, helplessly watching him leave with the money.

"Please, Mom, don't let him take the money!" I begged, holding onto her. She couldn't do anything to stop him. She wrapped her arms around me, but she looked so frail and weak. She was not the type to confront my dad.

I don't ever want to see that man again.

His presence irritates me to no end. I have thought about what to do to him, to make him feel the pain and hurt he is causing us, but I couldn't come up with anything. I stood by the door as the knob twisted. I gripped the rod I had been using for my painting, clustering it in my hands, waiting for the door to be shoved open. I knew it was my dad. I would make sure to hit him with it to end this pain that has been buried inside me.

"He must die today," I murmured to myself as the door burst open.

He entered and took measured steps, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I hid behind his back, raising the rod to hit him, knowing that my mother wouldn't stop him from taking my scholarship exam money. Hitting him would make him feel the pain I'm feeling right now. I was sweating profusely as I prepared to strike.

"Jasmine, don't, please!" My mother yelled, tears dripping from her eyes. "I don't want to hear that this man has caused me nothing but pain." His presence annoyed me further, and I felt myself going wacky because of it. I looked at my sad mom and felt as if my heart was being torn into pieces by my father.

The rod was stripped from my hand.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, my dad gave me a sharp slap across the face. I held my cheek, trying to endure the sting.

"Oh, you want to kill me?" he taunted, and then he punched me so hard that I wailed in pain.

"You are an evil child who wants your father to die," he spat at me before storming out.

I burned with rage and hurt. It felt as though something was piercing my heart, and I couldn't stop wondering if he was truly my father.

"Mum, I deserve to know who my real father is!" I shouted vehemently.

"Jasmine, he is your father," she replied, looking heartbroken. I couldn't understand why she didn't want to leave him. I didn't think I could continue to endure my father's heinous character alongside her anymore. I felt it was time to act so that I wouldn't die in pain.

"You know he doesn't see me as his daughter, so why should I take him as my father?" I pressed my mom.

She couldn't help but cry. "Mom, let's leave this house for him." My words felt like daggers piercing her heart. She didn't want to hear that.

"You know he is my husband, and we made a vow at the altar-to stick together for better or worse. No matter how difficult he is, I should stay by his side." That was the reason she was suffering, all in the name of a vow.

"If that is the case, then I will make sure I kill Daddy so that you can be happy. That man has made life a living hell for you."

"Let's kill Dad so we can be free from his grip," I blurted out, knowing full well how my words would be received. From the way she glanced at me, I could tell she would be very angry for saying such a thing.

"Why would you think that way?" Fury laced her voice as she wondered how she had raised me to contemplate such violence.

"So that he can stop hurting us!" I exclaimed, desperate for her to understand where I was coming from.

"My dear, I didn't raise you to be a killer. Don't worry; we will get through this," she assured me.

Her words felt like a bandage on a wound that would not heal. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was trapped in a nightmare that would never end. I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my heart heavy with thoughts of escape.

What would it take for us to be free? I longed for the day when I wouldn't have to fear the sound of my dad's footsteps approaching. I wanted to be able to laugh and play without looking over my shoulder. My dreams of attending Kisco High School felt like a distant fantasy, overshadowed by the grim reality of my home life.

As the days went on, I found solace in my art. Painting became my escape, a way to channel the anger and sadness that threatened to overwhelm me. Each stroke of the brush felt like a release, a way to communicate the feelings I couldn't express in words.

I often painted scenes of hope, imagining a life where my mom and I could live free from fear. I painted the sun shining bright, flowers blooming, and laughter echoing through the halls of a home filled with love.

But reality would always creep back in. I could hear my dad's angry voice in the distance, and it would shatter the peace I had fought so hard to create.

One evening, as I worked on a piece that depicted a serene landscape, I overheard my parents arguing. My father's voice boomed, filled with rage, while my mother's tone was soft and pleading. It made my heart race, a familiar feeling of dread washing over me.

I set my paintbrush down and pressed my ear against the wall, straining to hear their words. The argument escalated, and I felt a surge of anger boiling within me. How could he do this to her? How could he destroy the woman who had given everything for me?

Just then, the door to my room creaked open. It was my mother, her eyes puffy and red from crying. I rushed to her side, wrapping my arms around her tightly.

"What happened, Mom?" I whispered, fearing the answer.

"Nothing, dear. It's just the same old argument. He's just frustrated," she said, her voice trembling.

"No, Mom. It's more than that. He's hurting you, and I can't stand it!" I replied, my voice rising with emotion.

"I know, sweetie. But we have to endure. We have to stay strong," she said, her eyes reflecting a deep sadness.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within me. "I just want us to be free from him, Mom. We can't keep living like this."

Her gaze softened as she held my face in her hands. "I know it's hard, but we will find a way. We just have to be patient."

Her words lingered in the air, a bittersweet promise that felt both comforting and empty. I wanted to believe her, but the reality of our situation weighed heavily on my heart.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling of despair. I wanted to break free from this cycle of pain, to find a way to protect my mother and myself from the monster that lived in our home.

I promised myself that I would find a way to create a better life for us-one filled with love, laughter, and freedom. My dreams of attending Kisco High School were not just about education; they symbolized hope for a brighter future. I would not let my father's darkness overshadow the light that was still flickering within us.

I vowed that somehow, someway, I would fight for our freedom. I wouldn't let fear control my life anymore. I would be strong for my mother and for myself, no matter what it took.