𝐼 𝐶𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 [𝑬𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈]

chapter two

The house at the end of the street stood in disrepair, its faded grey exterior with peeling paint giving it an unwelcoming aura. It lacked charm, and stepping inside felt intimidating.

Though it was only a twenty-minute drive back to my dad’s place, I felt far removed from him. My father had always been my anchor, offering comfort and stability throughout my childhood. Losing that connection as I ventured into this unsettling place weighed heavily on me.

The neighborhood was quiet, with houses neatly spaced apart. Still, there was something unsettling about this structure that made it difficult to picture it ever feeling like home. My true home was still with my dad, whose warmth I missed more than I cared to admit.

The lawn was surprisingly well-kept, hinting at some potential, but it only added to my hesitation about the house itself.

Just then, Alejandro wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me out of my thoughts. “So, what do we think?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting. I felt the urge to express my misgivings but knew his optimistic attitude often helped me see things differently.

“It’s… definitely unique,” I replied, trying to match his enthusiasm.

“Unique is good! Come on, can’t you picture it?” he pressed, gesturing toward the house. I closed my eyes, attempting to envision what he could see.

“Imagine it with a fresh coat of paint, new furniture, everything in its place. We can make it ours,” he suggested, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

I could see his point; maybe this place could become something special. “I… see it,” I admitted, allowing myself to feel a flicker of excitement.

“The first day is always the hardest. Let’s check inside—how bad can it really be?” he said.

But he was wrong.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with dust and cobwebs, the kitchen cluttered and grimy. I immediately felt a wave of unease roll through me.

“Okay…” Alejandro called from upstairs, his tone shifting to one of concern. I braced myself for whatever news he had.

“Well?” I asked, hesitating to move past the entryway.

He frowned, shaking his head slightly, and my heart sank. “It’s not perfect. Not yet, anyway,” he finally admitted. I nodded, envisioning the transformation we could bring to the space.

“So… first things first—we should definitely spray for bugs,” he joked, attempting to lighten the mood, and I felt a small smile break through.

The layout had potential—a small kitchen, a decent-sized living room, and two bedrooms upstairs. It would require work, but I steeled myself for the challenge ahead.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

The next day was spent ridding the house of unwanted pests. It was a slow and tedious process, so we decided to stay at my dad’s place until the chemicals settled. I welcomed the familiarity of my father’s home, but the presence of Helen—the woman my father had married after my parents' divorce—hung heavily in the air. Though I never referred to her as my stepmother, I was aware of the subtle but persistent tension between us.

“So, how’s everything going?” Helen asked as we sat around the dinner table, her fork scraping against her plate. My dad, ever the devoted chef, smiled encouragingly at me.

“It’s definitely a start. Looks like something out of a horror movie,” I said, sharing a knowing glance with Alejandro, who grinned back.

Helen raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look forming on her face. “Well, someone should remind you that taking on a project like this isn’t easy. Just because you graduated from high school doesn’t mean you’re ready for everything,” she stated bluntly, her gaze fixed on me.

The heat rose in my cheeks. “I’m more than just a recent graduate, Helen,” I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady. “I can handle this.”

“Can you? Have you ever done anything like this before? Fixing up a house isn’t just about slapping on some paint,” she shot back, her tone dismissive.

“That’s why we’re working on it together—I’m learning. I’m not expecting perfection overnight,” I said, frustration creeping into my voice.

“Learning is one thing, but this is a huge responsibility. You need to be realistic about what you can handle,” Helen replied, crossing her arms. “You might think you’re ready for this, but sometimes you need guidance.”

“Guidance? Or just more criticism?” I challenged, feeling my irritation flare. “I know I have a lot to learn, but I’d rather make mistakes than be told I can’t do it from the start. That doesn’t help me at all.”

Helen narrowed her eyes slightly. “It helps to have a dose of reality. You’re still figuring things out. Why not let someone more experienced take charge?”

“I don’t want to just sit back and watch,” I insisted. “I want to be involved. It’s important to me.”

“I get that. But you should also know your limits. It’s okay to lean on someone,” she said, her voice softening slightly, but the skepticism remained.

Alejandro shifted in his seat, sensing the tension escalating. “Look, with all due respect, Anna has been her own person for years. She knows what she’s doing because she has support, not criticism,” he interjected, a protective glint in his eye.

“I appreciate that, Alejandro, but—" I started, but Helen cut me off.

“Honestly, you really think you can do this all alone? It’s easy to have big dreams, but reality is often different,” Helen said, her voice firm.

“Maybe reality is different because people like you refuse to see potential,” I shot back, my heart racing. “Just because I’m younger doesn’t mean I can’t handle this.”

“It’s not about age. It’s about experience,” she replied, her brows furrowing.

“Experience comes from trying, doesn’t it? You can’t gain it if no one ever lets you try,” I fired back, feeling more empowered.

“Okay, that’s true. But it’s also okay to ask for help,” she said, the edge in her voice softening slightly.

“Why do you always assume I need help? I’m not a child,” I responded, exasperated.

Alejandro spoke up again, aiming to diffuse the tension. “Listen, both of you have good points. Anna can take this on, but Helen, maybe just support her instead of questioning her every move? We’ll figure it out together.”

I felt a wave of gratitude for his support but also a tinge of embarrassment.

Rising from the table, I took my plate and tried to maintain composure. “Okay, he’s right. I can handle my life. I need some rest, but I’ll be out of here by tomorrow. Happy?” I forced a smile and turned toward the kitchen as silence fell between us, heavy and unspoken.

I set my dish in the sink, pushing away the weight of Helen’s words, which lingered like an unwanted shadow. Instead of washing the dishes, I slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I sank onto the toilet seat, shutting my eyes as tears began to fall. Helen’s skepticism wasn’t valid, but accepting that truth felt burdensome. So, I let the tears spill quietly, letting the frustration wash over me.