Lidia.

I was at my art exhibition, I came as just another guest, I like to keep my image private, it is also satisfying to hear what others think, without knowing that the artist is listening, before I didn't think it was possible to achieve something like this. The road to get here has been very difficult, it was full of tears, sweat and effort, finally I made it. Finally, I can feel proud of myself. I can boast that I didn't choose my vocation badly, maybe I'm not Picasso, I don't hold a candle to van Gogh, but I am good, the prices of my paintings prove it.

"Mom!" I heard a shout, then I felt some little hands around my waist.

"Who are you?" He was not a child from the orphanage that I usually visit, I know them all. Or almost all. I tried to understand why he was grabbing me.— Little one, you have the wrong person.— I tried to reason with him. How can I have a son and not know it? There is also the fact that I have never had intimacy.

"Mommy, you're alive." His green eyes, just like mine, made me jump, impossible. It can't be, this child is...

"Byron." I could recognize that voice anywhere. I have it engraved in my memory as if it were my damn favorite song.

"Daddy, I found Mommy." He was a few meters away from the man I loved for more than a decade, the man of 1.87, black hair, blue-gray eyes, broad shoulders, sexy lips and handsome face. He was the definition of perfection.

Have you ever given flowers to a man? I have. He is the one in front of me right now.

I remember him as a child, how didn't I realize it before? Maybe because you've been struggling to forget everything about him. So you didn't notice that the little one here is his spitting image. My inner voice answered.

"Get away from me." I ordered the brat. My voice, once normal, became cold.

"No. I won't leave you. You are my mom." The child clung to me, that irritated me. His father strode over to us. He took his son and looked at me with disapproval. The boy wanted to hug me again but I moved away. I can't stand the child. I know it's cruel, but I can't when he was the one to blame for my misfortune.

"Keep your son away from me." I turned around, my eyes flooded, I wiped them discreetly and walked to the exit, I didn't have the strength to stay at my event. Nobody knew that I was the artist, it doesn't matter if I'm here or not.

"Mom! Mom don't go!" The child's screams damaged something inside me. But no, I'm not going to be that child's mother. Not when his father chose my sister instead of me.

Luke.

I tried to calm my son down, he just couldn't, he didn't know he would find her here, she didn't know that her resemblance to Layla would be a problem for my little one.

"She's Mom. I want to go with Mom. Take me to her." He wasn't asking, he was demanding, full of pain. It was killing me to see him like that. But that wasn't his mother, that wasn't even the Lydia I thought I knew.

She used to be a warm, sweet and cheerful woman, always full of paint on her clothes, face and hair, always trying to earn my appreciation, I received a flower from her every morning, a huge bouquet on my birthday. Cards with poems, she chased me like a dog chases its owner. She looked at me like a pervert, she was a complete nuisance. That's all I could think of her.

Of that woman, there is now no trace. Now her green eyes are colder than an iceberg, her clothes of cheerful colors have been replaced by a single color, black. For years it has been the only color she wears. I know this because I got to see her after being married to her sister for a while. Layla always said how worried she was about Lydia, that it hurt her to see her turned into the woman she became.

"Dad, take me to Mom." My son brings me back to the present. How am I going to explain to him that that is not his mother? That she is the woman who wanted to kill him when he was barely a fetus.

Lidia.

Damn it. Why am I crying? Seeing him was harder than I imagined. I left my hometown never to see him again, yet he kept appearing, he still appears. His eyes still look at me with that disapproval they always had for me.

But who in my entire life has seen me differently? My parents always prefer Layla, the sweet Layla who doesn't break a dish. The most outstanding student, the enthusiastic polyglot, the popular one, the good one at sports. The princess of perfectionism.

And what was I next to her?

The imperfect twin.

The one who doesn't know more than two languages, the one who had terrible grades, the one who spent her days stalking a man, whom she should never have fantasized about.

"You will never be anything."

"Your paintings will never cost more than two pesos."

That's what my parents used to tell me. I cried as I remembered how cruel they were to me.

They unfairly accused me of wanting to kill my sister's baby. In revenge, they burned years of work, burned my dreams. Burned my effort. Burned my kind self.

Flashback.

The employees took out all my paintings and put them in the garden. Two maids held my arms while my paintings were reduced to ashes.

I don't remember crying so much in my entire life. Not even when my Nana died. The only person who truly loved me.

Do you know the phrase, "pain makes you stronger?"

After my Nana's death, it wasn't like that. I crumbled. I had lost the only decent human I knew. I was alone at her funeral, she had no family, my parents didn't care that she had worked for more than twenty years in their house, not even my sister went, nobody was with me on that sad day. In my heart, I had hoped to see Luke, maybe I was a nuisance to him, but my Nana always treated him well. Why didn't he even bother to send a bouquet of flowers? I found him at home when I returned, I naively thought he had gone to offer his condolences.

"Luke." I hugged the man colder than an iceberg. He didn't pity my pain. He pushed me aside.

"Don't touch me. You are a real nuisance."

"Don't be hard on me." My eyes kept shedding tears. "Today I won't be able to bear your contempt. Just for today be gentle, my Nana..."

"Don't try to make me feel sorry for you. I'm annoyed by girls like you. Always trying to get attention. Get over it and move on. Leave me alone." I was naive to think he came to offer his condolences, to support me, to comfort me. He came for other reasons, but what were those reasons? I found out a few days later, he and my sister were in a relationship.

My sister was dating the man I had loved since I was seven years old. How? When did that start? Did they always like each other and I never realized it? I didn't know.

She apologized to me. But why would she? What right did I have to receive an apology?

Luke chose her. Everyone chose her. Why would I be surprised? I don't know. Maybe it was because she never did anything to earn his affection. Maybe because she was my blessed sister and had to help me instead of seducing the man I loved.

"You have all the boys at school in love with you. Why did you have to accept him?" Everything in me was breaking. I couldn't deal with this too.

"I like Luke."

"Luke likes the whole fucking school!" I screamed frustrated. "I thought you didn't like him, you were pretending all the time. You pretended to support me when you actually wanted him for yourself. What you did has no justification."

I locked myself in my studio, the brushes in my hands didn't move. The painting in front of me was empty for weeks. I couldn't paint, the pain was killing me slower than a poison.

I slept in my studio, bathed, ate, and dined in it. That was my safe place. One day I decided to go out. The lack of sunlight was hurting me. I saw it in my mirror.

I wish I hadn't crossed the door, I wish my future self had stopped me, everything had been quiet in the house, nobody bothered me, I think they had forgotten that I existed.

I just wanted to sunbathe and have some lemonade.

"Finally, you come out of your cave." Layla said when she saw me. I ignored her and took my glass. "Give me some?"

"Serve yourself." She snatched my glass. In a matter of minutes, she started to feel bad. My mother called an ambulance and they took her to the hospital. Maybe I was a traitor, but she was still my sister, I was worried about her. I waited for Mom to come back.

"What happened? How is Layla?" I received a strong slap. "What's wrong with you?" She had never hit me, scolded and yelled at me yes, no matter how angry she was, I never received a blow from my parents.

"How could you? Are you so jealous of her?"

"I don't understand what you're talking about." Luke joined, his eyes had fire, it seemed he wanted to kill someone, it was me, I didn't have to be very smart to deduce it. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" The situation was confusing.

"If something happens to Layla, or to my son, you will spend the rest of your days in jail."

"Layla is pregnant?" One more blow to my little heart. That's how serious their relationship had become. Had they already had sex? It was obvious that yes, she didn't get pregnant from the holy spirit. I imagined them both in bed and I felt like vomiting, my sister and the man I loved for years had intimacy, I bet he was the first, because she hadn't had a boyfriend.

"Don't pretend you don't know." Luke grabbed me by the shoulders. He put so much pressure on them that he almost broke them.

"You're hurting me. Let me go."

"I warn you Lydia. My baby won't be the only one to die."

I couldn't understand anything. Why were they blaming me? What was I supposed to have done to the princess of perfection?

... I was in my studio asking God for a sign.

"Will my parents never love me? Tell me. Why do they love my sister and not me? Why if we are twins?" God, please save her baby. I don't want to go to jail." I knew Luke very well, if he set his mind to it, I could spend the rest of my life in that place, his family was the most powerful in the country, a snap of his fingers and my life would be ruined forever. "God save her baby. Please. And let me be happy. Let me find my purpose in life." Being on my knees, praying, I heard how the door of my studio was broken. My father entered and gave a clear order.

"Take everything out."

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"You no longer have a father. I was wrong to have you."

"Dad." His hand went to my cheek. That one had hurt more than my mother's. He used to be cold with me, but from time to time I noticed a certain warmth in his eyes. Unlike my mother who only looked at me with disapproval.

"From today, you are no longer my daughter. No more privileges for you, miss." The pain didn't matter to me. Seeing him take my favorite painting, I only wanted to know one thing.

"Where are you taking my paintings?"

"Where they belong." I didn't understand. I chased the men to realize the hell that was in the garden. My first painting, the one I painted at three years old, and the last one from a year ago became ashes. Only my Nana's was left with me, it was the most important, my favorite, the most valuable, I still remembered the day I did it, she was watching me and congratulating me for how beautiful I painted.

"Please don't burn that one. Dad, please." The tears didn't stop falling. My eyes looked like clouds in precipitation. "Let me keep it. Just that one, Dad. I beg you." I saw Luke in a corner. "Luke, please. Tell him not to do it." I begged. He saw me as if he was enjoying my pain. My dad made a gesture with his hand, one of those men threw it into the living fire. "NO!" I screamed full of pain while I saw burn the last memory of the person I loved, and who loved me back.

"Your pain doesn't compare to what Layla is suffering." Listening to her name moved something inside me. Something that had been growing over the years. Envy, resentment, rage, pain, hatred. Until that day I knew that I had all those emotions stuck in my chest, I repressed them for years, thinking that one day everyone would love me as they loved her, but seeing my work burn was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"She's the only one you care about." Being on my knees, I raised my head, I saw him with so much hatred that for a moment I felt I managed to intimidate him. I stood up, made the maids let go of me. I dried my tears, adjusted my clothes, and cleared my voice. "I just lost years of work, years of effort, but I plan to recover them. I will make more beautiful paintings that will be sold in millions." I looked at him with a determination that I didn't know existed in me. "You didn't burn my dreams. You burned me. You just lost your daughter. And engrave this well." I separated my damned tears. "You will never get me back." I smiled. "You don't give up on me. I give up on you. On my mother. And this whole damn family." His hand rose again to hit me. I don't know where I got the strength, but I managed to hold his arm. "No." I pushed him. "Never in your life will you put a hand on me again." I turned my gaze to Luke. "I gave you a love that no one will ever give you. You despised it for a long decade. So never expect anything from me. Never cross my path. You are no longer anything in my life, you mean nothing. I hate you all." I turned my back and ran, ran with all the strength I had left.

The weather seemed to align with my mood. The cold rain soaked my body. I looked at the sky, it was completely gray. At that moment I remembered a phrase I read, "you can cry in the storm, or dance in the rain." It didn't have meaning until this instant.

I took the phrase very literally, I started to dance, to dance like a psychopath, dancing reminded me of my Nana, she used to be my partner in the kitchen, since nobody wanted to dance with me at parties. My mind clung to the good memories, I jumped, laughed and danced until I ran out of energy.

... I woke up in the hospital, I had been there for a couple of days, I didn't know how I got there. The last thing I remembered was crying, dancing and fainting.

"Who brought me?"

"He said he was your boyfriend." Impossible, I didn't have that. I didn't even have a suitor. All the men were hypnotized by Layla. I didn't think anyone knew my name.

"Did he tell you his name?"

"No." I would have liked to thank him for what he did. However, he didn't give me the opportunity.

I didn't have money in my pockets, I wondered how I would pay the hospital, luckily the stranger had left everything paid.

I left that place feeling reborn, and with two objectives. One, to kill the love I still felt for Luke, and two. To fulfill my biggest dream, to succeed as an artist.

Four years have passed since that day. Things were not easy for me, I was used to having all the comforts of the world. Now I had nothing. Only the clothes I was wearing. The moment I needed it, a miracle appeared. I got a call from the bank, my Nana had no family, but she considered me her own, she left me everything she had, I didn't think it was too much, but her forty years of work had achieved great results.

End of flashback.

"I owe it all to you." I told the painting I made of her four years ago. It was the first one I wanted to restore. I sighed feeling a weight disappear.

... The morning had arrived without me realizing it. I felt like I didn't sleep well, but I still got up and went to take a bath. Then I opened my closet and felt depressed. Before I had beautiful colors in it, from white to the most intense red. Now all there is is black and gray clothes, that's how my life feels, that's how my character feels, and above all, that's how my world feels. I can't stand wearing colorful clothes, it reminds me of my self from four years ago. It reminds me of all the damage that was done to that young woman, who, only longed for a little love.

I had to push away my thoughts and chose a black blouse with a cross in the middle, black pants, black boots, black socks and a gray jacket. It's a little cold outside.

I left my apartment when I saw my Uber arrive. I went to the university and talked to my friend Sierra, I didn't know if I should give this girl a chance, I mean, my own sister betrayed me, what was stopping a stranger from doing the same? I don't know why, but she insisted for more than two years. We have been friends for less than a year, everything is going well so far. I wish with all my heart that it continues like this.

"Hello Lidia. I didn't see you at yesterday's exhibition." We had planned to admire the work together. I forgot everything with the presence of that jerk.

"I left early."

"Why?"

"I had matters."

"I took pictures for you. You missed a great show."

"What happened?"

"Well, you see. Joseph was dating..." I stopped her from hearing that name.

"I don't care what that Joseph does." I hear his name so much that I see him even in my soup. It tires me to go anywhere on campus and hear Joseph did this, Joseph did that. As if he were the center of the universe.

"What's your problem with him?"

"None." In reality, I have barely seen him.

"And why do you act like you hate him?"

"I don't. I simply don't care what he does." Joseph reminds me of Luke, he is four years older than me, but in my high school everyone talked about him, Luke this, Luke that, at that time I liked to listen to all the rumors, now I am irritated by men who are the center of attention. I have already learned that staying away from them is the best option. "I'm going to class. I want to finish what I started." The classroom was about two minutes away, I arrived, arranged my materials and started painting, this is the only thing that has color in my life, my paintings. But even they look opaque. Once I heard someone say that the painter was a woman full of pain, that he felt nostalgia when he saw my paintings, I wanted to approach, I did not understand that inexplicable need to talk to a stranger, a few steps behind him a woman arrived and hugged him, it was then that I recovered my sanity and walked away, I never knew who he was, I was left with curiosity, undoubtedly he was right. I am a woman full of pain.

"It's cute." An unknown voice forced me to turn around. My eyes went up the blue shirt to the face. Perfect features, blue eyes, reddish black hair, thick eyebrows and sexy smile. Everything in him screamed danger, womanizer, disappointment, the alarms in my head were ringing. Alarms that I turned off when I realized that I am not his type, the kind of woman he would like would be Layla. Not Lydia. "I've seen several of your paintings, you paint very well."

"Thanks." I turned around and continued with my thing.

"Do you think you could accept an apprentice?"

"No." I heard a giggle.

"You didn't think much about it."

"There is nothing to think about." My calm answers kept me focused on my painting. I wanted it to be perfect, as perfect as all the ones I have made.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" A slender young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair came for her belonging. I imagine that's how she sees it.

"Admiring the work of an artist. Isn't this painting beautiful?"

"I don't understand much about art." She said, I felt the disdain in her gaze. Do I care? Not at all. I'm used to everyone hating me, one more on the list won't hurt. "Let's go. Class is about to start." The two left, through the mirror I could see the boy's eyes, we both looked at each other for a fraction of a second, before I looked away to continue my work.

"Mom." I was leaving the campus when that child caught me, he clung to me so hard that I thought he would break my hips. "Mommy come home with us."

"I'm not your mom." I pushed him away roughly. It bothered me that he saw me as a replacement. If his mother were here he wouldn't even ask about me.

"Mommy, don't you love me anymore?"

"I'm not your mother!" How the hell do I make him understand? His crying caught the attention of my classmates, everyone looked at me with disapproval. As if I were the villain of this story. "Hey, calm down." Now how do I shut him up?

"I missed you so much. But you didn't miss me. You don't love me." He cried louder. He reminded me of his mother, always crying to get attention. I wanted to leave so I wouldn't see those eyes similar to mine anymore. He again clung to my waist. "I'll be a good boy, I won't do any more mischief. I promise. Just love me." A tear escaped me. Damn it, he reminded me of myself, always in need of love, I never received it, neither from my parents, nor from the man I loved.

"Byron." I was about to give in. I swear I was two seconds away from giving in, but hearing his voice reminded me of all my damn suffering. I didn't want to go through that again, I will be selfish, my heart comes first, it wouldn't resist more pain.

"Get away from me." I pushed the little one. "I'm not your mother." I looked at Luke with hatred. "I want you and your son away from me." The tears again take over my eyes. I was strong and contained them. I can't let a child manipulate me. He could have been my son, but Luke chose my sister. Just like everyone else did.