An Unexpected Ending

I stumbled, legs folding under me as my back slammed into the cold floor. My body twisted sideways, landing hard against the bucket. The mop falling beside my head.

She knelt beside me, her face inches from mine. Her voice was soft, her doe eyes were indifferent. “You should’ve stayed in the shadows. Never, should you have thought you could be above me.”

My mouth opened. Tried to scream.

Nothing came out. Just breath and blood. I felt the warmth of the blood soaking into my side. Into the floor.

My hands twitched. I tried to reach up. Tried to push myself off the ground.

“He… hello…”

My voice cracked. Too soft.

“Help… me…”

No one heard.

No one saw.

Just me.

And her.

And the knife she used to make her final cut.

The pain hit. It came in waves—first a dull pressure, then a blinding burn that tore through my stomach and climbed into my chest. I couldn’t tell where it started or ended. My body pulsed with it.

I blinked hard. My vision swam.

Something clattered.

The knife, maybe. Or my own shoes as I kicked out by instinct.

Selena stepped back slowly, her face unreadable. Indifferent and calm, just like it was when she poured acid on my face.

Her dress caught the light as she turned, almost glowing.

I tried to move.

I couldn’t.

My hand twitched. That was all.

My limbs were heavy. My stomach was screaming. I could feel my pulse in my ears. It sounded like thunder, crashing in slow motion.

I looked down.

There it was—the wound. Deep and wide. My shirt clung to it, red soaking through the white like ink in water. My hands pressed against it, weakly. Blood slipped through my fingers anyway.

I was trying.

But I was losing.

I opened my mouth again. My jaw trembled.

“Help…” I croaked.

The sound was nothing. Barely even there. The lights above flickered. The room blurred.

And then—

the past rushed in.

Not like a memory. More like a punishment.

That day.

That godawful day.

When I was fifteen, beautiful and radiant. The kind of beauty that didn’t need makeup or filters. The kind that made girls jealous and boys bold. It was a birthday party. I wore a simple sundress. I was laughing. Someone’s older cousin handed me a drink. He complimented my laugh. I didn’t think anything of it.

But Selena saw.

Later, behind the guest house, she cornered me. Her voice shaking with rage, holding her mother’s perfume bottle.

“You always think you’re better. He was looking at you.”

I thought she’d yell.

She didn’t.

She poured.

Acid.

The pain came instantly. Like fire set to skin. My scream cracked the air, but no one came.

They said it was an accident.

Selena cried to the police. Her mother begged for mercy. Said I “stole attention.” My stepfather told me not to make a scene. Told me to cover my face and “be grateful” it wasn’t worse.

I was fifteen. I was a child but I was told to act like an adult.

And from then on, I wore long sleeves and soft scarves. I lowered my eyes. I learned how to shrink. I became…invincible.

My mother had died not too long ago. She had fallen. An “accident” down the stairs after an argument with Selena.

I never saw her ashes. They took her jewelry, her clothes, her recipes. Even her wedding ring.

All gone.

My stepfather became my guardian. The kind who handed me over to Marcus Whitmore at twenty like a package marked damaged goods. Said it was “for the family.” For our future.

Marcus didn’t want a wife. He wanted something pretty to chain to a chair and show off once a month.

But he never showed me.

He showed Selena.

Even on my wedding night—he left me alone in a hotel suite while she picked glitter out of his hair the next morning.

I endured it.

I told myself it would end. That someday, maybe, I could cook my way out of the ashes. I enrolled in culinary school. Studied with my head down. Took the burn from hot oil and kitchen blisters with more dignity than I’d ever been allowed at home.

But every time I succeeded, they found a way to twist it.

Told me to stay quiet.

Told me to “let Selena shine.”

Told me a woman like me—scarred, unwanted—should just be grateful.

Grateful.

Grateful to be someone’s shadow.

Grateful to be invisible.

Grateful to serve.

And now, here I was.

Lying beside a mop bucket.

Scarred, bleeding and dying.

All because I finally wanted more. All because I whispered the word freedom out loud.

My vision blurred. My throat burned.

I saw Selena’s silhouette move back toward the hallway. She didn’t look back.

Of course she didn’t.

She never did.

My lips parted, blood bubbling in the co

rners. I tried.

“He… help… me…”

But it was too soft.

Too late.

Everything…

Every sound…

Every memory…

Fell away.

Then, finally—

darkness.