Chapter 7

Dealing with anguish and indecision was proving to be an excruciating challenge for Isabella. In that moment of her life, alone, working as a sex worker, facing pressure and demands from clients, morning sickness, and the rejection of her father, she was already feeling exhausted.
The indecision about what to do enveloped her like a dense fog. Being a mother was not part of the plan, especially in a context where financial and emotional stability seemed unattainable. The profession she had chosen, more out of necessity than desire, appeared to be an insurmountable barrier to motherhood.
Deciding about motherhood is one of the most difficult choices someone can face. And when this choice occurs in a context like Isabella's, the complexity is even greater. She reflects on the love she could offer a child, but also on the difficulties she would face in raising a child alone, dealing with social stigmas and financial challenges.
Or, the painful alternative of abortion, a decision that is not simple, carrying significant emotional weight and, for her, representing the interruption of a life in its early stages.
Isa knew that, regardless of the decision she made, it was extremely important to have a support network she could count on. However, this was exactly what Isabella never had. Now, the only way out was to tell the child's father and hope that through his reaction, she could make a wise and safe decision.
Every day, Isabella picked up her phone to call Aléssio, but the fear of rejection and disdain was much greater than her desire for a decision. So, she decided to wait since he was a regular client and would eventually seek her out.
Contrary to conventional routines, Aléssio delayed in establishing communication with Isabella. Some event had transpired; perhaps Mrs. Morgana had informed him about Isabella's distance, or he was entangled in some kind of trouble. The fact was that Isabella was already losing hope; her emotions were heightened, and fear consumed her deeply.
Lost in thoughts, Isabella spent her days in anguish and desperation, unable to decide anything about her life and her future. She picked up her phone for another attempt to seek help and dialed the number she never expected to call at any moment.
— Hello?... — The cold voice on the other end of the line choked Isabella's voice; all triggers of pain and despair returned to her body, and she couldn't express a single word. — Who is this?
Isabella's terror overwhelmed her, and she quickly hung up the phone, tossing it onto the bed. She went to the kitchen, placed a glass under the tap for it to fill, leaned her fists on the sink, and succumbed to her pain without realizing that the glass had filled and was overflowing.
Coming to her senses, Isa turned off the tap and took a sip of the liquid, letting it flow down her throat. Before finishing, a sudden anger surged through her body. The girl who was once balanced and serene threw the glass of water against the wall in front of her, and the shards scattered across the floor, reminding her of when her mother had staged a similar gesture in one of many fights with her father.
Isabella then decided to call her father and not leave room for him to say anything; she was determined to expose everything abruptly and directly.
— Hello? — The voice was gentle on the other end.
— Dad, I'm pregnant, and I don't know what to do. I need help.
— Sofia? Is that you, my daughter? — Her adoptive father sarcastically remarked.
— Dad, I'm not joking. I need help, support, I don't know what to do. — Isabella spoke with a choked voice, letting her tears reveal her pain.
— Now you need help? Did you come to me when you decided to run away with those delinquents? Or when you decided to get into drugs without thinking about me or the consequences?
Isabella listened while crying; she truly didn't know how to explain, and she didn't have the strength to argue with her father.
— When you decided to surrender yourself to a bunch of men for money, did you think about seeking my help? — Paulo paused, his voice choked; he seemed very resentful. —I always wanted to help you, Belinha. — That's what Paulo affectionately called Isabella. Hearing him say 'Belinha,' Isa couldn't hold back and burst into tears. —I never denied you anything. I faced my wife's wrath for you. I adopted you because your mother didn't want you. I was willing to pay rent for you to have your own life; I was just waiting for you to be old enough to emancipate. And what did you do, Belinha? You ran away with delinquent stoners, disappeared without a trace, and I stayed here desperate, anguished. Do you know how many sleepless nights I spent imagining if you were okay or if you were hungry or cold? Do you know how I insisted to the police to keep looking for you even after they said they couldn't anymore? — Paulo cried profusely on the other end of the line, and a lump formed in Isabella's throat because she knew her father was right. "Until I found out from the mouths of disorderly and filthy men that you were prostituting yourself in a mediocre cabaret in the suburbs. I feel so sorry for you, Belinha, but you'll have to bear the consequences of your choices alone.
The sound resulting from the abrupt phone hang-up echoed like an electronic sigh. The sudden silence that followed, interrupting the auditory connection, left a sense of emptiness, as if the echo of the unilateral decision to end the communication still resonated in the invisible lines that connected the two ends of the call.
The moment was marked by a palpable pause, a sonic vacuum reflecting the abrupt break in virtual dialogue, reverberating the sudden termination of the interaction.
Isabella allowed her once erect body to crumble under the weight of uncontained emotions; her trembling hands sought, in vain, to contain the storm unfolding within her. The atmosphere became saturated with melancholy as salty tears freely streamed down the apples of her cheeks.
In the quietness of the room, a solitary scream of emotional pain broke the silence like a resounding thunderclap. The anguish, previously held back, found an audible escape, reverberating through the walls like a desperate lament. The cutting sound, laden with distress, echoed in the space like a dissonant symphony, marking a peak of suffering.
Isabella's contorted facial expression, twisted by agony, reflected the intensity of the torment invading her soul.
The echo of the scream slowly dissipated, leaving an emotional void, as if the pain had temporarily emptied the chest of the distressed young girl. The state of momentary relaxation and exhaustion caused by pregnancy led Isabella into a deep sleep.