I try to hold back my tears. I hate it when people see me cry, especially when we’re in a public place. It feels like my throat has closed up as I listen to my mother, who is sitting across from me. My father acts like nothing is happening. Bella is on her phone, while Kellan and Killian don’t bother to say a word and are busy eating.
 
Silas and Soren seem displeased. Syntho’s been trying to quiet my mother, but I told him not to say anything more, because I don’t want a scene. Luckily, he’s listening to me, while I try to swallow the food I’m struggling to eat right now. Syntho and I have been having conversations in our minds ever since we left the house.
 
“You should cut back on your food. I’ve noticed that you’ve been gaining weight these last few months,” my mother says. Syntho has been more concerned about my health than she is. “How are you going to be an engineer if you’re fat? There are no fat engineers. You should keep yourself in shape,” she adds. 
So, I stop eating then. I’ve lost my appetite already from her non-stop scrutinizing my shape. “Should I starve myself then?” I ask, unable to stop myself. She clearly didn’t expect me to speak.
 
My father looks at me before mother can speak. “Shantal, watch how you speak to your mother,” he warns me when in fact Mother is the one who start it. 
 
“I’m just asking in my usual tone, father,” I state, calmly. My hands clench under the table, when Syntho places his hand on top of my knuckles.
 
“I’m just saying you should stay in shape. Being fat as an engineer is not a good look, dear,” my mother explains, but I can see from her expression that she doesn’t like that I spoke back to her earlier.
 
“Is size really what matters when you’re an engineer? How about skills and talents? Is engineering based on size now?” I ask her, trying to hold back my anger. 
 
“Size is always important—”
 
“But why didn’t you criticize my size when I was malnourished? You didn’t even care that I ate less than three meals, or that I didn’t eat at all,” I interrupt her.
 
“Shantal,” the twins warn me, their voices low and serious. 
 
“Shantal, shut that mouth of yours," my father's piercing eyes fixes on me like a dagger. 
 
“Stop what, exactly?” I ask, emotionless. Where did I get the nerve to talk back to them, especially in public now? I did tell myself I don't want a scene but my mother is pushing my patience thin each minutes. 
 
“We gave you food, a roof over your head, clothes. Your mother and I have done everything for you. You should be thankful for that because there are children out there who didn't have everything you have right now,” using the very typical Asian parent guilt-trip tactic, especially coming from my own father. Not surprising.
 
“Oh, yes. I am thankful, indeed. But how about a basic apology, or taking responsibility for how this family has hurt me?” then they all fall silent. No one says a word. They clearly didn’t expect me to ask them that in a public place. I don’t want to cause a scene, especially since we’re in a public restaurant, but I’m tired. Actually, I’ve been tired for a long time, and I’ve been bottling up these emotions for too long already. They need to come out. And at this point I need a therapy. 
 
“We didn’t hurt you, so stop overreacting. The life you have now is all because of me and your mother. There are children around the world who don’t have parents. Be grateful that you have us,” my father when no one speaks up. Now he's trying to shut down this conversation using the 'there are children less fortunate' card.
 
“I’m not overreacting,” I’m just in pain.
 
“Yes, you are,” my mother intervenes, using her 'dismissive invalidating behavior' on me.
 
“I’m just in pain. It’s not overreacting,” I correct her. 
 
My mother chuckles slightly at my words. “You’re not in pain. It’s just an illusion, dear,” and now she's using 'gaslighting' on me. 
 
“Pain is a feeling, not an illusion that humans create. You both use manipulation and gaslighting on me in this moment and throughout my d*mn life and right now for once I want to break free." I say, trying to calm myself and hold back my tears as much as possible.
 
“What are you talking about? We’re your parents, you should learn to respect us in public—” My father says.
 
I cut him off. “Oh, yes. Like a good daughter you always wanted people to see, because it makes you look like a good, actual father, when in truth you never really are? Should I continue?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him with my sarcasm. I feel Syntho squeezing my hand under the table. He’s giving me strength. I need that. Although my parents look like they’re ready to snap at me any seconds.
 
“Shantal Lombardi, you better stop right now,” Killian warns me, giving me a deadly look.
 
“Or what, Kill? You want to drown me again like you did ten years ago?” my voice laced with a challenge.
 
“Shantal!”
 
“Too bad. I survived,” I smile at him, which makes him angry. Then I look at my parents. “Remember the day you told me that you hated me, that I was born, mother? It was five days after Diana died—”
 
“I don’t remember saying that,” my mother denies the accusation. 
 
“Of course you don’t, but I remember it vividly. It’s been carved into my heart, and I was only eight at the time. It’s typical for someone to say they don’t remember those words, because they’re not the one who received them—,” 
 
“You’re the one who exaggerated those words. We didn’t hurt you. You made it up to make us feel bad about being your parents. We did everything to make you who you are today, and you dare blame us for the pain you’ve felt for years? To apologize and take responsibility for the hurt we caused you? Sure, we’re the bad parents now, huh?” my father snaps, slamming his palm on the table. My father's response is a clear example of 'narcissistic deflection and ‘blame-shifting'. 
I try to remain as calm as possible, even though I want to burst into tears right now. “Playing the victim now, and turning the tables, aren’t you, father? Very typical move for a narcissist to make. Not surprising. You won’t even admit you made a mistake just because you’re a parent. Talk about hurting your ego—,” but before I can finish, a hand lands on my cheek, so hard that my face turns to the side. 
 
“Enough!!”
 
I slowly turn my face to look at him. He’s snapping at me in anger. “Can’t handle the truth, huh?” a small smirk playing on my lips. That slap is fucking painful.
 
“Shut your mouth, Shantal. This isn’t a place to talk about confidential matters,” my mother intervenes, as the twins give me a disappointing look. Screw them all.
 
“Why? Because you’re scared that people will find out that you’re not a perfect parents at all? Scared of ruining your public reputation, mother?” I ask, so much of holding back my tears. 
 
“Stop it, Shantal. People are staring at us,” Kellan warns me, giving me a look.
 
“I did everything to make you feel good and make you guys happy, even though I was dying inside. You control my life, and I obey everything you told me to do. Your needs always come first, before mine. You always care about everyone’s opinion about you. You only treat me well if I please you, but once I disappoint you, you give me the silent treatment, and I’m so tired of it all,” tears welling up in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall in front of them. “I wish I had died instead of Diana. She was always the good kid, and I’ve never been good enough for you two and this fucked up family."
 
“Enough with this bullshit, Shantal Lombardi,” my father yells at me. I can see his veins popping out of his neck because of anger.
 
“It was your fault! Diana died because of you, and how dare you blame us for the pain you feel?! You deserve it!” My mother screams those words at me, and the pain is tenfold. “I wish you had disappeared instead of Diana! She didn’t deserve to die just to save you! We never asked to have you in the first place. Diana did,” this is not just a verbal argument; it's a public display of emotional abuse. 
 
“Ma, what are you doing? We’re in public,” Kellan interrupts.
 
“You’re here because of her! You don’t deserve to be alive!” My mother yells. And I can’t really hold it anymore. Tears finally stream down my cheeks, after my own mother says those words.
 
“That’s enough. Our deal is broken,” Syntho snap after his long silence. His voice is calm, but there’s a hint of authority and anger in it. “I’ve heard enough for tonight,” He gently helps me get out of my chair, putting an arm around my waist. Supporting me. 
 
“Wait! Hold on! How about the money?!” my father yells.
 
“You’re not getting a penny off of me,” Syntho replies with a cold voice. 
 
With that, we both leave the restaurant, and he takes me out. When we reach his car, he turns me to face him, cupping both my cheeks. “Let it all out. I’ve got you, Shantal,” with that, he embraces me, kissing the top of my head as I slowly bury my face in his chest and sob uncontrollably.