**Chapter 2**
**Elenie Woldof's Point of View**
I finished drying my father's clothes, folding each piece of fabric with almost compulsive precision. The sound of the wind whistling through the small window of our room, the pale sunlight of New York filtering timidly, all of it made me feel like life was suspended between despair and fragile hope. I hummed softly so the oppressive silence wouldn't swallow me, trying to believe that one day things might get better.
I was twenty-eight. An ordinary woman, one might think, but with enormous dreams trapped in a suffocating daily routine. Of average height, with long hair I let fall freely over my shoulders, my eyes held a mix of fatigue and determination. I had trained as a secretary, and my skills were recognized, but my ambition went far beyond that. I dreamed of opening my own catering and pastry business because cooking wasn't just a profession—it was a passion that gave me a breath of hope in an otherwise dull life.
But reality always caught up with me. The more I suffered, the more I convinced myself that life wasn't meant for me. That I would die in this silent, crushing poverty. My hands trembled slightly as I finished putting away the laundry, my gaze settling on my father, Frédéric Woldof, sitting in the small chair of the modest room we had managed to rent with the little money we had left. He had been paralyzed for months after a tragic fall, after years of work and accumulated misfortunes. My father, who had been a court bailiff in a prestigious Sicilian court, had once been a proud and respected man. Now, he depended entirely on me to survive.
It had been months since we left Italy. Yes, I am American, but I had spent my entire childhood in Italy.
— Papa… I said softly, a smile on my lips despite my fatigue. I'll go get some bread, I promise.
He looked at me with tired but grateful eyes and blessed me with a wave of his hand.
— May God protect you, my daughter… he whispered.
I nodded, slipped into a simple dress, and headed toward the street. Even modestly dressed, I felt the eyes on me. New York had a way of reminding you of your smallness at every corner. But I didn't have time to linger on others' judgments. Every step was calculated, every movement thought out to secure my survival and protect the one who had given me everything.
The bakery was just a few steps away, and the air was thick with the smells of food, dust, and city life. I picked a warm loaf, pressing it against me like a small comfort, then stopped at the corner to buy a newspaper. I leafed through the job ads, my hand trembling from fatigue and the daily anxiety. Every ad was a potential hope, every line a silent promise that my life could change, even a little.
Then, my eyes landed on something that made my heart beat a little faster. A textile company was looking for an assistant secretary. My exact profile. Everything they asked for matched my experience, my skills, and my potential. I bit my lip slightly, holding in a breath that felt too long, and closed my eyes for a moment.
— Please… I whispered, like a prayer no one could hear, let this be for me…
I opened my eyes and allowed a small smile to appear on my lips. For the first time in a long while, there was a spark of hope. Maybe this ad could be the start of something. Maybe I could finally escape this oppressive routine.
I walked the rest of the way home with the newspaper pressed to my chest, my heart a little lighter, but still aware of the cruel reality waiting for me at home. My father needed care, and the surgery to restore the use of his legs was beyond our means. I still remembered that fall, the bar where he drank to forget, the path he took that day before the accident that left him paralyzed. All of it because of poverty, because of my mother's betrayal.
Yes, my mother… manipulative, calculating, who had abandoned us to marry a wealthy man. I had never accepted that. Her choice had destroyed our family. My father had collapsed, and I had vowed never to depend on anyone, to stay strong for him. And that was why I worked, folded the laundry, did everything I could to survive.
After her betrayal, I decided to gather my savings and leave Italy. I didn't want my father to suffer any longer.
Back in our modest room, I set down the groceries and prepared a meal for my father. Every gesture was filled with tenderness and frustration, anger and love. I was exhausted, but I refused to give in. His gaze reminded me why I had to keep going.
— Papa… today, I think I found something, I said softly, handing him the newspaper.
He squinted, intrigued.
— What did you find, my daughter?
— A job ad… for an assistant secretary position. Everything matches my profile… I can do it. I think… I think this is my chance.
His eyes brightened slightly, and he nodded, a faint smile on his pain-wrinkled face.
— Then take it, my daughter… never let your chance slip away. May God guide you.
I nodded, clutching the newspaper like a treasure. A new light had just pierced our dark life. Even though the challenges remained, even though poverty and pain hadn't disappeared, for a moment, hope had crept into my heart.
I sat by the window, watching the city continue its frantic pace, its lights and shadows. I already imagined my future, little by little, fragile and uncertain, but real. Maybe one day, I could achieve my dream of creating my own catering and pastry business. Maybe I could give my father a gentler, more dignified life that he deserved after all these hardships.
I rested my head against the back of the chair and let out a long sigh. My eyes misted, not with sadness this time, but with a different emotion: a silent promise to myself. I would never give up. I would not let poverty or past betrayals define my life. My father and I deserved better. And we would have it, no matter the cost.
I stood, ready to prepare dinner. But in a corner of my mind, that small spark persisted. This opportunity, this potential, this chance… it all felt fragile, but real. And I prayed that tomorrow, luck would continue to smile, and that
our life—so hard-tested—would finally begin to change.