I'm Esmeralda Augustine.
I woke up from sleep, opened my window, and let the morning breeze hit my face. The sun was just creeping over the horizon, painting the sky gold, and for a moment, I let myself breathe. But then it hit me – today, I'd be meeting Ethan's mom.
My heart swung unpredictably as I remembered the few things Ethan had told me about her. Serious. Sharp. Demanding. Protective. The kind of woman who notices everything – the way you sit, the way you laugh, the way you carry yourself.
I got out of bed and brushed my teeth slowly, letting the toothpaste foam distract me from the panic bubbling underneath. How would I even tell her that I'm sickle cell? This part of me has taken so much away – so many people I could've loved, relationships I didn't even try to fight for.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I bent to tie my shoelaces, my fingers fumbling slightly despite my best attempt at calm. The knot refused to sit tight on the first try, and I let out a small, frustrated sigh. That's when she walked in.
My stepmother.
She didn't say a word at first, just leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes taking me in like she was cataloging every little thing – my posture, my expression, the faint tremor in my hands.
"You're thinking too much," she said finally, her voice calm but firm. "Stop worrying about what she will think. Focus on how you want to show up."
I rolled my eyes subtly, though I didn't say it. I knew she was right, but the nerves clung to me anyway.
"Sit up straight," she continued, stepping closer. "Take a deep breath. Smile like you're not scared, even if you are."
I did as she said, feeling the small shift in my chest, a little steadier, a little taller.
"You don't owe her anything," she added. "She's not going to control your story. You control your story. You've done no wrong in loving her son."
Her words hit harder than she knew. I swallowed, tightening the knot on my shoelaces one last time, standing up to stretch my legs. I felt some of the tension loosen. Enough to remind myself I'm Esmeralda Augustine – someone who's survived worse than an awkward first meeting.
I glanced at the clock. Time was moving faster than I wanted. Lunch skipped, I grabbed my bag, checking for the essentials. My phone, wallet, a small packet of tissues, just in case. I exhaled slowly, letting my gaze drift to the window again. Outside, the breeze still played with the leaves, unconcerned, free. I wanted to be like that.
"You'll be fine," my stepmother said, placing a hand briefly on my shoulder before stepping back. "Remember what we practiced. Walk in like you own the room, not like someone scared to be judged. Hold your head high, control your hands, your eyes, your breathing. Everything else will follow. You're Esmeralda Augustine, remember?"
I nodded, letting her words sink in. Part of me wanted to argue, but another part of me knew she was right. Confidence isn't about feeling fearless. It's about moving forward even when your heart is beating too fast.
The taxi honked outside. I grabbed my bag, my heart still skipping. Time to step into the world that doesn't forgive hesitation. The streets were slick from early morning's rain, reflecting the morning sunlight in fragmented patches of gold. My heels clicked sharply as I walked to the taxi, each step echoing like a small drum of courage I had to muster.
The drive was quiet, save for the soft hum of the tires against wet asphalt. My fingers tapped against the strap of my bag as I rehearsed my entry in my mind: calm, poised, polite, but sharp. No one can intimidate me, I reminded myself. I've survived worse.
When the taxi stopped, I saw Ethan's house, modest and neat. Nothing fancy. That was a relief – I didn't need grand houses or shiny cars to feel out of place. I stepped out, the breeze brushing against my face again, reminding me I was alive, I was capable, I was Esmeralda Augustine as my stepmother will always remind me.
The door opened before I could knock. A maid stepped aside politely. " Hi ma'am, Ethan, she's here," she said softly.
Ethan appeared, calm, composed, giving me a small, reassuring smile. "Come in. Sit down," he said, gesturing toward the living room.
I lowered my bag to the floor and took the seat he indicated. Crossing my legs, I kept my hands folded neatly on my lap.
The maid stepped back, leaving us alone. Silence settled around us, thick but manageable. I let my eyes wander: faint smell of coffee, sunlight filtered through the curtains, shadows stretching lazily across the walls. My senses were alert, noting every small detail, every potential threat, every opportunity to show I was unshakable.
"You look…" Ethan began.
"Save it," I cut him off with a smirk. "I'm not here for compliments."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Right. Meeting tonight. You ready?"
I shrugged. "Born ready."
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Slow. Deliberate. I didn't flinch. I didn't shrink. Whoever she was, she was about to see me exactly as I am.
"She's here," Ethan said quietly. Standing up to welcome his mother.
I lifted my chin slightly. My pulse thumped in my ears, but I kept my hands still, my posture steady. The door opened, and there she was – Ethan's mother.
"You're here," she said, voice sharp, calm, and precise.
I held her gaze, letting her measure me. I didn't step back. I didn't offer explanations. I wasn't scared. I wasn't apologizing. I was Esmeralda Augustine, and tonight, I would show her exactly that.