The Year 2000 — Where It All Begins
Tagaytay, Philippines — Year 2000.
The fog settled gently over the Grasyania estate, a grand mansion surrounded by quiet pine trees and far too many secrets for one family to keep.
Inside, the halls echoed with voices. Not laughter—just voices.
At the dining table sat Wilma Grasyania, her eyes sharp even in her old age, her posture straight as always. Her designer robe was perfectly pressed, her pearls tight around her throat. But even with all her wealth, she couldn't hide the bitterness in her tone.
"You must always remember," she said sternly, "not all children are equal. Some are born strong. Some are born… disappointing."
The two women in front of her didn't blink.
One was Josefina, calm and composed, holding a quiet rage behind soft smiles. The other was her daughter, Marissa—just nine years old. Messy hair. Slippers on the wrong feet. A bruise on her elbow.
"Sorry, Ma'am," Marissa muttered, standing behind her mother.
Wilma didn't even look at her. "Sorry won't raise your value, child."
From the side of the room, another young girl peeked through the doorway. Sharon—Wilma's niece by marriage—already dressed like a princess in her baby-pink dress and matching headband. Her eyes sparkled, not with innocence, but with silent jealousy.
She hated how much attention Wilma gave Marissa—even if it was mostly criticism.
"She didn't mean to break the vase," Josefina said calmly, shielding her daughter. "She was just playing."
"Children don't play in the Grasyania home," Wilma snapped. "They prepare to become heirs."
Marissa's fists clenched. Even at nine, she could already feel it—that deep unfairness crawling in her chest. This wasn't a home. It was a battlefield.
"Come here, Sharon," Wilma called sweetly.
Like clockwork, Sharon ran to her side. "Yes, Tita Wilma?"
"You'll make a fine lady someday," Wilma said, brushing her hair fondly. "You act like one. Speak like one. Look at your posture—perfect."
Marissa looked down at her bruised knees, covered in dust. Josefina gently pulled her close.
"You don't need her approval, anak," she whispered. "You just need to survive her world."
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Outside, the sun began to rise—soft and golden.
Marissa would never forget that day.
The day she realized she wasn't born into a family.
She was born into war.