When I was sixteen, I caught a boy dragging Isabella into an alley behind school. I didn’t think. I reacted. The next thing I remember was the sound of something breaking, his screams, people staring at me like I was the threat. No one cared what he had been doing to her. They only saw me—the girl who went too far.
My parents were terrified. The town whispered. And fear made the decision for them. They sent me away “for everyone’s safety.”
Ten years is a long time to be confined. But I adapted. I learned discipline. I trained my body until my emotions didn’t control me anymore—they fueled me. Strength became my anchor.
And strangely… I wasn’t miserable there. It was quiet. Predictable. Honest.
Until the day Isabella came to visit.
I felt it before I saw her. Something was wrong.
When she walked in, I barely recognized her. She looked smaller somehow. Fragile. Her clothes covered more than they should in the summer heat. And when she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.
She sat across from me, placing a small basket of fruit on the table.
“Hey, Vee… how are you?” she asked softly.
I didn’t answer. I reached for her wrist. She flinched.
“What happened to your face?”