Chapter Two – The Parents’ Blind Eye

In their modest two-bedroom apartment tucked into the second floor of a weathered brick building on the south side of Cleveland, they have lived there as long as they could remember. To them, it was a home, a roof over their head

“Something bigger lined up for her, always talking about abroad, about fashion, about living in cities we’ve never even seen, I don’t know, sometimes I wish she’d slow down a bit, appreciate what she already has” Mrs. Brown said, talking to her husband, who was glued to an old television that stood on an old worn-out wooden table at the sitting room

Mr. brown rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the hallway where Linda’s door sat half closed, light seeping out from the crack underneath, Linda lied on a mat, the nightstand beside her, a half-finished homework assignment lay untouched, the edges curling under the weight of a makeup palette, the textbooks stacked in the corner with heaps of dust, “it is hard you know?” he muttered to himself, “you did spend all this years trying to give your kid a good life, trying to teach her right from wrong. But then all of a sudden, she’s dreaming of running off to cities I have only seen in movies.” There was a hint of frustration in his tone,

Hmmm, “sometimes I worry she forgets where she comes from”, he responded to his wife, then, almost as though correcting himself, he added softly, “but maybe she’ll make us proud one day.”

Mrs. Brown shook her head slowly, her face radiating hope and expectations, a wistful smile curving her lips. She is never meant for this small life, especially in this part of our world, she retorted

Her husband leaned back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Who are we to clip her wings? She is the cynosure of all eyes.” A dream bone match for aspiring husbands, and with that, the conversation ended.

None of the parents cared to caution her, nor did they guide her to imbibe humility, patience, and responsibility; they gave a deaf ears to her ambition and silently supported her desires, hoping it was a demonstration of love

In her room, Lynda lied relaxed, scrolling through her phone, her face lightened by the phone screen, looking at the photos of influencers in developed cities, smiling at intervals, as she opens a picture of a girl just her age, posing in front of a private jet “That’s going to be me, she whispered under her breath, the words slipping out like a promise. She felt no guilt, no hesitation, only certainty; each photo was a window into the life she believed she was born for.

A knock on the door startled her slightly, “Linda”, her mother's voice called softly “, time to sleep now.”

“Yes, mama”, she answered, locking her phone screen but not her thoughts

Her mother cracked the door open, smiling tenderly at her eldest daughter. “Good night, my jewel. Have sweet dreams”.

“Good night, mama”, she replied

When the door clicked shut, Linda rolled back to her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her mother spoke as though they were simple, like wishes made on birthday candles, but Linda’s dreams were louder and heavier, pressing against the small apartment like a fist against a locked door

The next morning, the bell from St Philip’s church drifted in softly, from somewhere far off, chiming five o’clock, just as always. By habit, Mr and Mrs Brown began to wake for their morning prayers in the gentle light before the day truly began,

“What time is it?” Mr. brown asked groggily

His wife had picked up the cell phone charging by the bed. “Nine already”, she replied

And Linda? Is she up yet? Mr. Brown mumbled.

“Just let her be”, his wife replied, already busy folding a pile of laundry. “Maybe she was reading all night”, she needs her sleep

Mr. Brown’s frown deepened, the lines in his forehead carving even sharper. “A college student in bed at this hour?” he muttered, his tone edged with quiet reproach, although he seemed to hold himself back.

Mrs. Brown kept her eyes on her work. “I told you she studies at night, just don’t bother her”. He looked like he might protest, but only sighed and shut his mouth. The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words left unspoken

So, while Linda slept soundly in her room, her parents’ blind eye turned once again toward her unchecked ambitions. They confused letting things slide with love, thought permission was the same as support, and mistook their own pride for genuine guidance.

What they did not realize was that their silence was a kind of fuel, feeding the fire in Linda’s chest, a fire that grew stronger each day, determined to carry her way past the limits of their quiet apartment in Decatur.