IN-LAWS

"I'm leaving."

Tick tock, tick tock, the announcement bullies the clock into a muted silence. A powder brush falls to the floor, and the older woman's half-made-up face is contorted in a picture of disbelief.

"You can't be serious, child. You're not leaving."

"I am. I have had enough of this." The younger woman mutters. Her gaze sweeps over the lush carpet, the huge dresser crowded with bottles and tubes and pots and wands, the wardrobe bursting with clothes, and the endless lines of shoes.

 "I want more for myself."

"More for yourself? You have more, my dear. What else do you need? Where will you go?"

"Anywhere. I have an aunt in the States. She will help, I think."

"My God, you haven't thought this through, have you? Look at you quaking in your Louboutins! Darling, running away from a man is easy, running away from Pedro is impossible, I should know."

Disbelief and a slight hint of awe cross the other woman's face. She blinks rapidly and stutters, "run away? You ran aw-- I mean, you ran away from your son?"

"No, silly girl. I ran from his father's brother, and if there's one thing I know, it's that Pedro is the same person as his uncle. His father, God rest his soul, was a milquetoast of a man. Too weak, too dull, he was everything negative and nothing you'd want. Except for his brains. Gosh, he was brilliant, that's the one thing Pedro got from him. Anyways, as I was saying, Pedro's uncle raised him, and practically fed him by the hand, I was just his incubator until he hatched. And if there's one thing we both know, it's that Pedro is a possessive bastard. A sad thing to say about one's son, but we have never had a mother-son relationship, I'm the woman he's duly obligated to send a hefty allowance every month.

"Oh, darling, I have steered off course, haven't I? Well, I'll just tell you this, running away from Pedro is impossible because he never lets go of what is his, or whatever he considers as his. He could erase every trace of your existence, if he wanted to, or destroy everything and everyone you hold dear."

The younger woman swallows and her tongue wets her lips, they're dry but the lipstick is forbidden to crack. She blinks back tears and her voice is a croak when she speaks, "I thought he loved me. I was so sure that it was love. He was a bright light and I loved that he let me shine too, even if I was a poor reflection of his brightness. I thought --- I don't know what I was thinking-- I rushed this, and I want out. I can't. Not anymore."

Pedro's mother watches her daughter-in-law as she cries silently. The tears are in an orderly fashion, one after the other they roll down her cheeks, yet her foundation remains firm. She nods in approval, expensive foundation is a woman's confidante. And then she sighs, long and loud, but the girl is too wrapped up in her misery to notice. Damn you, Pedro, she thinks, even as she texts the Cleaner. If the child wants out, then she must be allowed to leave, a silent exit is the most befitting for such.

Whew!

It's the end, this is just a short note.

I said it was a short note, that's it.

Heh, anyways, I have been sitting on this for a while now and I completed it today, go me!

And you also think this family is dysfunctional, no?

P.S. This watercolor painting belongs to Eriko on Pexels.