A young girl was born, the youngest of three sisters, daughters of a couple ruled by their hearts. Both the father and the mother were loving and kind people, but they were also dominated by anger. Being temperamental, they would easily lose their composure, and if the slightest thing happened outside of their expectations, they would spend the rest of the day with their nerves on edge, like bulls charging at a red cloth. All the daughters inherited this temperament, making them easily irritable. The only one who differed slightly was the youngest, as she was always more rational, constantly seeking calm but always being overpowered by anger.

The father's name was Isaac. He was playful and gentle, always trying to stay positive and bring peace to the household, even joking at inappropriate times or being affected by others' fury. The mother was Sofia, the most easily irritated of the five. If the smallest thing went wrong with her plans, she would spend the rest of the day extremely angry, with a stern expression and a hair-trigger temper ready to explode. She was responsible and hardworking.

Now, let's talk about the sisters. The eldest was Rafaela, responsible, empathetic, with a heart of gold. However, not only would she easily explode, but since childhood, she had been extremely sensitive. She made friends easily but also drove them away due to her temperament. If the mother was the easiest to irritate, Rafaela was the one who, when angry, had the most violent behavior of them all, unable to control her tongue or actions.

The middle child was Diana, the most popular and hardworking of the three, but also extremely arrogant, unable to see, or at least admit, her flaws. She was always the one who wanted to do everything, believed she was the most capable, and thought she was always right.

Finally, the youngest: Tiffany, who had a significant age gap with her sisters. From a young age, she was shy and loving. Curiously, she was a calm child, probably because she was always quieter, more obedient, and more solitary. She was treated as the golden child by everyone and protected by her parents, but it was only during her mid-adolescence that her temperament began to deteriorate.

Puberty and hormones started to reveal a side of herself that she had never known before. She would get irritated by the smallest things; everything seemed ten times more important than it really was. But since Tiffany had always been the quiet one, for most of her life, she suffered in silence, holding back from ever responding. Whenever there was a problem at school, she never told her family. Diana would act as if it were nothing important, Rafaela already had her own share of problems to deal with, and Tiffany didn't want to burden her sisters further. Her father would try to make her feel better with jokes and other things, but she didn't want to feel better; she wanted to be better. And her mother... Tiffany simply felt that her mother wouldn't understand.

The phrase Tiffany hated hearing the most while growing up was, "This is just because of adolescence, when you grow up, you'll see how things will get better..." Even if it's true, even if it really is just a matter of time until she feels better, she doesn't want to live in anticipation of a better future; she wants to improve the present she's in. When people told her that what she was feeling was nothing, that it was temporary, she then felt as if she didn't matter, as if she was being dramatic. Maybe it was true; maybe she was being dramatic, suffering more than expected from something like that, but she couldn't help it—it wasn't within her control. So why should she be dismissed for something that isn't her choice to go through?

They say everyone goes through it, so does that mean that when you become an adult, you simply forget how awful it is for a teenager to be treated as if they are exaggerating or being dramatic? Maybe it really is something without a cure, something that can only be treated by waiting to grow up, but would it hurt to at least take this time seriously, when our balance is completely off? To be by our side when we cry? Honestly, you don't even have to give advice or say anything; just please listen to the cries of this girl. All she needs is to be heard; she just wants a shoulder to cry on, not a mouth to speak.

She just wants to share all the thoughts in her head with someone; she just wants to understand herself better.

And the funny thing is, whether a child is good or bad, they are placed in a different trap. If it's a child labeled as immature, restless, or violent, when adolescence comes, no one cares because they've always been that way, now they're just worse. But when it's a child who has always been labeled as responsible, calm, "good," when adolescence comes and problems arise, one of the reasons they don't ask for help is because it's always been said that they are responsible, that they are mature.

In other words, the teenager interprets it as: "You are more responsible than most your age; you can get through this on your own," and the result is that the teenager feels ashamed to ask for help. After all, it's just teenage drama; it's not the end of the world, even though it might seem like it.

Tiffany definitely fit into the latter category. With good grades, she was extremely intelligent and loving—a person everyone said was a good person. Even though she had no friends at school, she was well-behaved and always prioritized doing the right thing, but she was mocked at school for always doing what was right, and she didn't understand why.

You're not supposed to talk when the teacher is giving a lesson; you're not supposed to cheat on tests—these things are the right thing to do. Literally everywhere you look, you see people talking about these kinds of things, it's so widespread everywhere that it's obvious it's the right thing. But then why was she mocked? Of course, it must be because they're not as mature as she is, exactly as everyone around her says—you're more mature than they are.

She prefers reading books over physical activities. Her mother, on the other hand, is an extremely energetic woman, raised in the countryside, who loves games and physical activities. She and the older sisters always played something together. But Tiffany preferred to stay home reading, staying on her phone. And her family would always pester her with comments like, "It's the curse of this generation," "Remember when we were little, and we played outside?"—you know the rest of the cliché.

But here's the thing, these comments are full of ignorance—not for what they're trying to say, but for how they say it. How do you expect a teenager not to interpret disdain or disappointment in such phrases?

When you say it's the curse of this generation, you're basically saying that today's generation is a mistake. And even if you think it's an exaggeration, maybe you should start worrying about whether teenagers agree with that or not. Why compare two completely different generations in two different times? The past is in the past—don't try to blame a teenager through memories of a time when they weren't even there; it will only make them feel bad, as if there's no salvation for them.

Don't try to command or force them to do something; learn to convince them, to talk to them. They are not property; they are people. People say that when you become an adult, that's when you start to truly live and experience the world. But could one of the reasons for that be because, when you're younger, people act as if your life doesn't belong to you?

Of course, parents and guardians still have a right over their children's lives when they are under their roof, not only because it's part of their responsibilities but because they love them and want to protect them from bad things. The younger ones need to understand that they don't have all the answers and that there's a possibility they might be wrong, and they need to learn the importance of prudence, self-control, and obedience. But guardians must never forget that children and teenagers need to feel that their life is theirs and not yours.

An example is if you're going to transfer your ten-year-old child to a new school—the decision is yours. Often, even if your child doesn't want to, you still have to make decisions for their own good. However, the least you should do is talk to your child and ask how they feel about this change—at least let them know that they still have the right to be part of the things that involve their life.

And with Tiffany, it was quite similar. When she tried to tell her family that she didn't want to play, they made comments as if saying she was very lazy and didn't know how to enjoy her own day, instead of trying to explain to her why it was healthy. Instead of trying to convince her, they criticized her. The only person who actually tried to explain without criticizing was her father, but by the time he came to try to explain, due to puberty and the anger she felt, Tiffany no longer wanted to listen. A conversation works both ways—one must be willing to talk without offending the other, and the other must be willing to listen. Her mother would get angry and completely lose control:

"I can't understand how you can stay on that all day, how can you? Where is the world headed today? I don't know how you expect to have a future like this."

In other words, you're saying that your daughter has no future. You're comparing her to yourself—you're not trying to talk to her or convince her that she's wrong; you're just exploding in rage for the whole world to hear. And if she talks back, she's the irresponsible one, she's the rude one (which is funny when you think about who raised her). You can criticize her in every way, but when she tries to defend herself, the whole world condemns her to the gallows.

She's wrong to answer back—that's the truth. But how do you expect her not to respond when you don't stop exploding? When all she wants is a conversation, silence, peace, since inside she's already in turmoil, and you only make it worse on the outside.

The world talks about the problems of adolescence, which is a reality, how teenagers need to learn to calm down, to listen, to be more prudent, to be more responsible, and they are absolutely right—teenagers also need to recognize that they are flawed and need to improve. But it's not just them—guardians also need to listen, to calm down, to understand.

And for Tiffany, everywhere she looked, all she saw was war—an older sister who freaked out over everything, a middle sister who seemed to put her down at every moment and was only nice when it suited her, a mother who exploded when the smallest things went wrong and spent the whole day with nerves on edge, to the point that the girl literally wanted to flee her mother's presence when she was like that. She didn't want to have to go through another stressful moment.

Sometimes, puberty multiplied her emotions, and Tiffany began to wish they would die, or at least suffer an accident just to shut up for a while, or that they would end up suffering because of those personalities and learn how bad it was. She felt bad—she didn't truly wish for it because she loved them. No matter how her sisters were, they were always protecting her; they didn't see her as responsible or mature—they still saw her as a child. But Tiffany knew they loved her. The same was true of her mother, who, surprisingly, seemed to believe in her more than her sisters did.

Still, Tiffany couldn't help but wish they would disappear so she could have peace. Her life was too hot, suffocatingly hot, everyone exploding and arguing, it was constantly a war of egos, and she just wanted to cool down, just wanted to feel the gentle breeze—maybe even the cold of death could free her. And we can't ignore that she was also getting angry. She couldn't hold it in any longer, and she started to snap and fight, and she was stuck in an endless cycle of fights and arguments. Tiffany always tried to break this cycle, but no one else in that house seemed to want peace, so she simply gave up.

She didn't want her family involved in her life because she was genuinely too tired of them, even though they could help her with the things she was going through, she knew they would only bring more headaches along with it. She tried to contain her anger and felt frustrated because she didn't know if everything she was going through was just drama or if it was real. Was all that frustration that made her cry alone at night just a sad trick of puberty that would pass with time? Or was it something serious, but no one seemed to believe it? The biggest dilemma many young people face is not knowing if they are really suffering or if they are just exaggerating. She felt so angry at herself for being so stupid that she would hit her head to take out her anger on something, even hitting her head against the wall multiple times—the reason she didn't even know, she just wanted to take out her anger. Her blood-boiling fury—how she wished she could be cold, could be one with the wind, with a cold heart, someone who doesn't care about what others say or think, someone who doesn't feel...

How she wanted to be a corpse.

It seemed to be the only solution. It wasn't—there were countless other possibilities, but she just needed someone to take her seriously so she could open up. Someone who saw her not as a child, not as a teenager, not as an adult, not as lazy, not as good, not as intelligent, not as responsible, not as stupid, not as exaggerated, not as grounded. But someone who saw her simply as a human being who needed to cry.

She was thinking about taking this apparent only solution when apparently, fate gave her a little push. Her family was arguing in the car. Honestly, Tiffany didn't even want to know what it was about; she didn't want to get involved; she just wanted to continue being treated as if she didn't exist. But a runaway truck hit the car and sent it flying off the road.

Tiffany had been thrown from the car—she had forgotten her seatbelt—and was flung far from there. With a weakened consciousness, the girl drifted between life and death, with broken bones and lying alone with her blood pooling on the ground. Maybe she could finally rest, but no, because the abomination claims the souls of those who do not want them, and a young girl sat beside her.

"Do you want to die?" asked the child, her face full of innocence. Tiffany wanted to scream, "Isn't it obvious?" but she couldn't because the twisted child decided to reshape her thoughts. "You don't need to answer; I know you want to live. Do you know one of the reasons why many people end up considering death? It's the desire to live."

The girl didn't understand. How could someone who wants to live consider dying?

"Of course, this doesn't apply to everyone, but a good number of people who want to die do so because they've lost hope for a better life. They want to live, they want to achieve their dreams, but they simply can't see themselves doing it. They want to have a happy life, but precisely because it seems impossible, they become frustrated. They don't know how to deal with their own feelings, but they want to, and from that, frustration is born. They choose death because they can't stand living in a world where you can only wish for things. Like a world where your family is by your side, but you can't imagine them being any different from how they are. It's cruel, isn't it? To feel a desire for something you can't have."

She didn't have the strength to speak; she was almost drifting off to sleep. But yes... Tiffany wanted to live... she wanted to live so much, but what made her suffer was the fact that she wanted to live. She wanted to stop feeling and wanting, just accept the life she was in.

"I've decided that I'm going to help you. I mean, every teenager goes through this—ambitions and desires they don't know how to understand or control. You come from a very kind family; surely you don't want people to go through the least of it. Tiffany, the melancholic—that's how your parents see you, isn't it? I know your despair is your frustration, but your hope is the destruction of your desire. Come, you will be one of my generals, and in the future, you will grasp your hope."

Sofia had woken up in a hospital room, tired and sore, completely confused and lost about what was happening.

"Oh, you're awake..." said the nurse who was beside her, changing what seemed to be some kind of IV. The woman sounded extremely surprised and quickly ran out, saying, "Doctor, she's awake!"

"What? This is a miracle." A miracle? What did that mean? How long had she been lying there? Wait, her memories were starting to become clearer.

"Where is my husband? Where are my daughters?" Immediately, the expressions of the pair in front of her darkened, and a bad feeling filled her. It had been a car accident. How fatal was it? How many survived? Where were her babies? Where was her love?

"I'm sorry, ma'am..." said the doctor before the nurse delivered the sentence that would change her life.

"They weren't as lucky as you." Lucky? What do you mean they weren't lucky? They couldn't mean that... No, no, no, no, and NO. In her desperation, Sofia tried to get out of bed, tried to stand up, and that's when... she saw her hand and realized how pale, thin, and... wrinkled it was?... What did that mean? It was too much information for her head. She had just woken up, hadn't even had breakfast yet, was probably still dreaming, that must be it because she didn't want to hear what the doctor said next...

"Ma'am, you've been in a coma for thirty years." This last piece of news was the last straw, and the woman, who had barely awakened, fainted again. Her weak body couldn't handle the sudden dose of adrenaline and stress. In the following days, Sofia realized it wasn't a lie; her entire family had died in the accident, and she had lost thirty years of her life. Still weak, the woman spent the next few weeks in the hospital. There, she heard the cries and shouts of joy for relatives who were saved and the wails and laments of those who were lost. Time passed, and the woman still couldn't come to terms with it. She wanted to know why she was spared while the rest were taken.

The elderly woman's mind became a labyrinth. When someone recovered, she wondered what made that person more worthy of living than her daughters, and when someone died, she wondered what made them less worthy than her... It was horrible to be in that place. The hospital was cold, as cold as a morgue, and the worst part was that she was alone. Her heart started to feel empty, and she became silent, mute and empty like a doll, an old woman abandoned by everyone, a woman who, in a matter of seconds, had lost everything one could have.

Months passed. Physically fully recovered, the woman was taken to a home for the elderly, where one of the staff had the kind idea of accompanying her to her family's grave, something she had never seen before. Left alone for a while with her family, the woman said nothing during the first few minutes, just staring deeply at them. Then, finally, she began.

"How I miss each of you... It's strange not to have you here by my side. It's odd being alone... and old." The woman let out a weak laugh. She had told a joke, wanting someone to be there to laugh, but if the dead laughed from their graves, the earth was too deep for her to hear. "Isaac, you were always better at telling jokes than I was... How I need one of them now; they always made me laugh... I feel like my life has lost all meaning, my love... Rafaela, I know we argued all the time. You weren't exactly easy to deal with, but I could see you were trying to get better. I swear I heard you crying and saw when you were frustrated. I just didn't know how to help. I never knew what to say, and I know your life was hard, but I swear... everything I did and said was because I wanted what was best for you... Forgive me if I was a terrible mother, forgive me if I wasn't able to ease the pain you were going through."

The past remains in the past, and the waves of time do not allow anyone to leave the present. Every regret is etched into your skin; every doubt will never be answered. Often, people do not realize the value of communication and how, if we don't truly understand each other, we will remain forever trapped in the mystery box that is someone's heart. Whether someone hated or loved us, there is no way to know except through words, through living together. One only knows another's heart if they, in fact, question it.

"Diana, you were the most stubborn, always thinking you were right and seeming to know everything. I feel like I never saw you apologize in your entire life, and one of the reasons I kept pushing you was because I was afraid of what would happen if you found out you were wrong in a bad situation... There was another reason too. You know how proud I was of you, don't you? But deep down, I... I felt a little ashamed. I was the mother; how could a mother need her daughter's help or advice? It should be the other way around. When you're an adult, it seems shameful to listen to the advice or ideas of someone so young, whether they're a child, a teenager, or a young adult. And that's why I didn't like it when you tried to take charge of everything or tell me what to do... I felt ashamed. I felt envious. I felt useless and incapable. I'm really sorry, Diana. You needed to improve, but so did I. And Tiffany..."

The old woman stared at the fourth and last grave, where her youngest, her baby, the genius of the family, was buried... and then she remembered how Tiffany always lived alone and quietly in her corner. She was quiet in the car too... while they were arguing, before everything happened. Thinking back, she always withdrew when everyone was upset. Were they scaring her? But it wasn't real anger; the family was just hot-tempered, it was their personality, there was no changing it, although the old woman wasn't sure if she had ever tried to change her ways in her life or if she had simply accepted it... The last moment with her family, and they were fighting.

"Tiffany, I'm really sorry. I got so irritated with you, always saying 'calm down, calm down, calm down' as if you thought it was easy when you couldn't stay calm yourself and had your outbursts... But I think I understand. The reason you told us to stay calm was that you couldn't stand seeing us angry anymore... you couldn't stand seeing us fighting... and you couldn't bear having to deal with our fury; it drove you crazy. I got so angry that you didn't seem to try to see our side and always wanted to control what we felt that I never tried to see things from your perspective and understand why you were the way you were."

The woman fell to her knees, crying. Why? Why do some go and others stay? What is the criterion of death? What is the criterion of suffering? Did Sofia deserve all that she was going through? Did her daughters deserve to lose all the future they had ahead of them? What is the pattern? Why?

And then she remembered the phrase: "They weren't as lucky as you." So that's it... there was no pattern, it's luck, it's random, it's a coincidence, it's a chance, a twist of fate, a probability... luck, luck, luck, LUCK? WHERE IS THE LUCK IN THIS? NOT EVEN THE DAMN LUCK COULD SPARE AT LEAST ONE, NOT EVEN THE INCOMPETENT LUCK COULD SPARE HER YEARS OF LIFE, HER WORK, HER HEALTH, HER FUTURE. IT TOOK EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING!!!! BETTER THAT IT HAD LET HER DIE THAN SPARED HER IN A WORLD OF SUFFERING AND LONELINESS.

Her cry turned into a scream in the middle of the cemetery. The staff member came to her aid, tried to console her, but she wasn't listening. At least now her heart wasn't empty anymore; it was full of hatred, burning with fury, and blazing like a sacrificial fire, begging for someone to satisfy her vengeance. And it was a few weeks later, at night in her room, that the visit arranged by fate occurred.

"Do you want help to destroy luck?"

"Who are you, girl? Where are your parents?"

"I'm someone who brought you a chance for revenge, to end chance and probabilities."

"OH, go away, girl. I don't know which of the old crooks here are spreading these rumors about me, but know that..."

"Including, you'll be able to reunite with your daughter." Sofia immediately stopped, and desperately, yet at the same time hopefully and incredulously, she looked at the girl. "I can't reunite you with the rest of your family, but I can assure you that the youngest is waiting for you. Tiffany is waiting for you, Misshapp."

"Misshapp? What kind of name is that?"

"Miss Misfortune, I decided to call you that, a perfect counterpart to how your daughter will be. I can tell you, madam, she's in eternal melancholy, and she needs you to contain your anger and become her joy. Do you think you can?"

"...... Be my daughter's joy? I wouldn't refuse that for anything. Where do I sign?"

"Hehehe, Misshapp, The Emotional, your despair is your grief, and your hope is the destruction of luck. Come, you'll be one of my generals and, in the future, will grasp your hope. Now, i'll leave lady and you will sleep, okay?

A good, warm, quiet and eternal sleep.