TIED BY FATE

imate purpose). However, today, as she found herself in her disordered art studio-gazing at a wall filled with unsold canvases-she could no longer di

tudio, tucked away in a serene corner of the city, now resembled a prison. The walls, which had previously been adorned with vivid masterpieces, stood bare, with only a few scattered canvases propped against

daughter might ultimately be consumed by the demands of adulthood. Ava swallowed hard and opened a message from her mother: "I know you're busy, mi hija, but please remember that family comes first. Don't let this dream of yours take everything from you. I'm here if you need help." A pang of guilt pierced Ava's heart. Her mother had sacrificed so much to afford her the life she currently enjoyed. Maria had toiled for long hours as a housekeeper,

ded mon

st another commodity. She had reduced the prices significantly, attempting to make a sale; however, the buyers were still few and far between. There was no market for her work, no chance to exhibit her talent beyond the limited audience of her online followers. She checked her bank account-$275.35-barely enough to cover groc

ssible. "¿Cómo estás, mija?" Maria asked, stepping into the studio with a concerned look on her face. "I'm fine, Mama," Ava replied, forcing a smile. "Just... just thinking." Maria's gaze flickered to the paintings scattered around the room, her eyes narrowing with concern. She knew her daughter well and she could see the anxiety hidden behind Ava's forced cheer. "Is it about the bills again?" Maria

va murmured, her voice heavy with emotion. "But I can't stop. This is everything I have. If I give up now... I'll never forgive myself." Maria exhaled softly, her gaze softening. "I understand, mija. I do. But you must approach this with wisdom. You cannot continue to sacrifice everything for something that isn't yielding results." Ava's frustration erupted. "I'm trying! But no one cares about my art. No one desires to purchase it. I'm trapped, M

ways unfold in the manner we anticipate." Ava's thoughts spiraled. A job-it seemed a capitulation, a forsaking of all she had strived for. But as she surveyed her studio-taking in the bare walls and the unsold paintings-she could not refute the reality. She was exhausting her options. "I'll think about it," Ava eventually uttered, her voice scarcely audible. Once her mother departed the studio, Ava collapsed into a chair,