"It means more than that to me." I look her in the eye, hoping she can see past her disappointment. "I’m building something here. A future."
"Do you really believe this is a future?" she asks, and it feels like the weight of a thousand family dinners presses down on me.
"I do." I answer with more certainty than I feel, trying to stay calm, trying not to shout. "I love what I do. Isn't that what matters?"
She sighs, an entire universe of frustration in a single breath. "You always were stubborn."
"It runs in the family," I say, an attempt at humor that falls flat.
"You think your little pastry dreams make you special, Liv?” Her words crack the air, as sharp as a gunshot.Mama’s eyes bore into me, as cold and fierce as an arctic front. We’re in the back office, standing like old enemies across a battlefield of unopened mail and stale coffee cups. It smells of betrayal and mildew. The fridge hums like a second heartbeat. Her voice cuts through it, clear and brutal: “I hold the deeds to this property. Keep straying from what’s proper, and you’ll be evicted before you know it.”
The words slam into me, and I stagger back like I've taken a punch. She's serious. She's really going to do this. For a second, I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at her and wonder how this went so far.
"You wouldn’t," I manage, my voice small and choked. But we both know she would. She has, and she's using it against me.
"Try me." Her voice is ice, her gaze unwavering. “We’ve all done what’s necessary to keep the family’s reputation intact. I suggest you do the same.”
"You think this is necessary?" My voice shakes, equal parts disbelief and fury. I feel the walls closing in, the enormity of it pressing down on me. "Threatening me? Trying to take away everything I've built?"
"I’m giving you an opportunity," she says, so calmly it chills me to the bone. "An opportunity to reconsider your choices before it’s too late."
Her words echo, and my mind reels. I see it all, every effort, every late night, every early morning—all of it crumbling away because she wants me to fit her mold. To be what she’s decided I should be. I taste bitterness, more potent than my burnt espresso attempts. "And if I don’t?"
The corner of her mouth twitches, something like pity in the hard lines of her face. "You’re not a child anymore, Livia. The world doesn’t indulge you just because you wish it to."
I turn, pace, feel the room shrink with every step. I think of the cafe, the energy, the life, the mess and beauty of it all. She’s using the deeds to break me, and it’s almost working. Almost. But then, like a sudden flash of light, my anger turns to something else. It hardens, solidifies. I feel it build inside me, steady and fierce.
"This is low, even for you, Ma." I stop pacing, meet her gaze head-on, my voice growing stronger, clearer. "But you won’t scare me into giving up."
Her eyes flicker, just for a moment. "I’m giving you a chance, Livia," she repeats, slower this time. “Don’t be foolish.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. "Foolish is thinking you can control me forever."
She steps forward, and the scent of her expensive perfume mingles with the musty room. "You’re part of this family whether you like it or not. That means something."
"Not if it means losing who I am. Who I want to be." I cross my arms, feeling a flicker of triumph in my chest.
She shakes her head, an iceberg splitting off from a glacier. "You can’t do this alone."
"You’d be surprised," I say, defiant, knowing I’ve surprised myself already. “And you’ll be more surprised when you see that I mean it.”
She watches me, a hawk sizing up prey. "If you turn your back now, it’s your choice," she says, but there’s something almost uncertain in her voice. "But don’t expect us to pick up the pieces."
"If it comes to that, I’ll handle it." I surprise even myself with the steel in my voice.
"So much pride," she says, a note of disappointment threading through her words.
"Pride, passion, future—all of it." I straighten my shoulders. Let her see I’m not the scared little girl she remembers. "None of which you can take from me, Ma."
We stand there, the silence between us louder than the accusations and ultimatums. The fridge hums on, a stubborn reminder of everything else I refuse to let die. Her eyes search mine, trying to find a weakness, a crack. She finds none.
"This is your final warning," she says, but I hear something else. Something almost like defeat.
"Then you’ve wasted it."
Mama's eyes flash, but before she can respond, the bell chimes yet again.
I glance up out of habit. My heart plummets to my stomach faster than a soufflé in a slammed oven.