at home, I'd always been a good student. Even when there was no food in the house and I was starving, I studied hard because I wanted to make something of myself one day.
The situation was difficult, but bearable. All of that changed when I turned twelve and my little sister came into the world. Trisha didn't have more of a motherly instinct for her own flesh and blood than she had for me. The burden of taking care of a newborn baby mainly fell on my back, but I didn't complain. May was a ray of sunshine in a life filled with darkness.
Years passed by in very hard conditions. Even though my father sold everything we owned, we were in more debt than ever before. Living in New York was expensive, and Trisha did very little to make things better, but I wanted May to have some sense of normalcy, so I found a waitressing job at a local Italian restaurant. All of the money I earned went to my stepmother. I didn't mind as long as she used some of it to care for my little sister.
Working on school nights and during the weekends started to take a toll on me, and it was difficult to maintain my good grades at school, but I endured and kept up with my busy schedule. The rest of my peers enjoyed hanging out at the shopping mall, or going to the movies without a second thought, and a hollowness filled my chest whenever I spotted my carefree classmates. I could do none of those things because circumstances forced me to grow up before my time.
“Olivia,” May's voice disrupted my thoughts. “Mommy’s crying downstairs.”
The shallow sobbing infiltrated my ears, and unsure of what to do, I opened the music box again and hugged May. How many more nights did we have to go through this hell? By the time the ballerina finished her dance, there was silence. May and I finally drifted to sleep.
***
The next morning it was quiet, and May wasn't in my room anymore. I wandered down the hallway and heard her talking to Trisha downstairs. Father wasn't home. He’d always leave early and return drunk in the middle of the night to start another fight with his wife. I headed into the kitchen to join them for breakfast, and was shocked by the scene I encountered. May ate her cereal, humming to herself and swinging her legs under the table while Trisha sidestepped chunks of broken plates left lying on the floor. Dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink, and residues of moldy food sat scattered along the countertop. Then, Trisha turned and a swollen bruise covered her entire left cheek.
“Good morning,” I mumbled in disbelief.
“Morning, Olivia,” May chirped in a happy voice. “Mommy has a boo-boo. She fell down and hit her face.”
Trisha and I exchanged knowing glances. Father had hit her again. Although my stepmother didn't have it easy, that didn't justify exposing May to the evidence of violence happening in the house. It was bad enough she listened to them scream at each other night after night. May was just a little kid. She shouldn't have been allowed to see this utter mess. Long ago, I had given up on meddling in their marriage, but I had to say something about this. There was no excuse for a mother to be so insensitive to her own child.
“May, can you go play in your room upstairs?” I asked softly. “I have to talk to Mommy.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “But can I eat my cereal first?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
Trisha didn't say anything. She just kept staring with an all too familiar absent, catatonic look that told me she was probably high on Xanax. Her red hair was a tangled mess of uncombed strands, and she looked in desperate need of a shower. At last, May finished her breakfast and left the kitchen.
I had to drag in a deep breath to keep from lashing out at my irresponsible stepmother.
“Trisha, you can't let May see you like this.”
“She doesn't understand anything,” she said in a slurred voice. “She's just a kid.”
“Come on, Trisha. You know that's not true,” I reprimanded her. “You've seen the drawings she made at preschool. A five-year old shouldn't listen to her parents' constant fighting.”
She rubbed her hands over her face, as though lost and tired.
“Trisha.” I came closer, hoping I reached her on some distant level. “Why don't you leave him and go to a shelter? I'll continue