Life,Betrayal,Death.

Life was a constant struggle. Not a day went by without it finding new ways to break me down. I'd had enough of it all.

Lying in a pool of my own blood, memories I had long buried began to resurface.

Back then, I hated my parents. Not for being strict or overbearing, but because of my stepfather—and my mother's unwavering submission to him. She never had a mind of her own, letting him dictate everything. No matter what I did, I was never good enough for them. My grades were too low, my personality too quiet and reserved.

It didn't help that my stepsister was everything I wasn't. She was loud, confident, and the life of the family, always stealing the spotlight. In middle school, I didn't have a single friend. It was a lonely, hollow existence, but I never complained—it wouldn't have changed anything anyway.

Things shifted in high school when I made my first friend, Anna. She was my lifeline, the first person who made me feel seen. I trusted her completely, sharing my troubles at home, my fears, my dreams. For the first time, I felt safe.

That all shattered one day.

The guy Anna had a crush on—the one she talked about endlessly—confessed to me in front of half the school. I didn't even see it coming. He stood there, pouring out his feelings, waiting for my response.

I was frozen, mortified, unsure of what to say. I didn't see myself as beautiful, but I knew I wasn't ugly either. Still, I had no idea why he liked me.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anna. Her face was blank, but her hands were clenched. Without a word, she turned and walked away.

That was the last time we spoke.

The next day, the rumors started. At first, it was whispers in the halls, but soon they grew louder, spreading like wildfire. Most of them were lies—vicious, cruel fabrications. Some, however, were twisted versions of the personal things I'd confided in Anna, warped into weapons to hurt me.

People started calling me a slut, accusing me of sleeping around with men and even trying to seduce a teacher. One rumor claimed I pushed my stepsister down the stairs because I was jealous of the attention she got. Coincidentally, my stepsister had sprained her ankle recently, and that was enough to make the story seem true in everyone's eyes.

The stares in the hallways were the worst—cold, accusing, filled with contempt. Everyone avoided me, but when they didn't, they made sure I knew exactly what they thought of me.

I didn't need to guess who was behind it. Out of everyone, I knew Anna had to be the one who started the rumors. The betrayal hurt more than anything else because she was my first real friend. She wasn't even subtle about it. She began hanging around my stepsister, the two of them always snickering or laughing whenever I passed by.

I felt small—so small that I wished I could disappear completely.

Things only got worse. At school, students made me their target, stealing my things, tripping me in the halls, or just outright humiliating me. At home, it wasn't any better. My parents treated me like I was the devil incarnate, accusing me of trying to hurt my stepsister for attention.

I couldn't defend myself. Every time I tried to speak up, the words wouldn't come. I felt too vulnerable, too broken to fight back.

By the time I left high school, I was desperate to escape. I managed to get an internship at a research center focused on drugs and medicine, mostly derived from plants. It was a small relief, a chance to immerse myself in something meaningful and leave the pain of my past behind. But even then, the scars lingered, and the weight of those memories followed me everywhere I went.

From the little I earned at my internship, I began saving, hoping to move out of my parents house and finally live on my own. But even that proves to be a struggle. My step father insisted I provided for my stepsister, despite her being a year older than me l. She didn't go to college because she seemed it "pointless" and yet I was expected to hand over a portion of my hard earned money as her allowance.

When I finally gathered the courage to voice how absurd this was and told them I wouldn't give her any more money, I got beat up by my step father. Again.

I was used to his violence by then, his fists his words, his dominance. But what hurt more was my mother. She stood there , watching, always silent. It made me wonder if she had ever truly loved me_ or if I was even her child at all.

Years later, I finally moved away. I cut ties with them completely, determined to start fresh.

For a while, it seemed like I had. I met someone who seemed to love and appreciate me. He was my safe space, and I was willing to give home everything_ my trust, my heart, my loyalty. I thought I had found the happiness I'd been searching for.

But one night, I came home early, hoping to surprise him at his apartment. Instead, I walked into a nightmare. There he was, having the time of his life with not one, but two women.

He saw me. Our eyes locked as he let out a loud, shameless cry of pleasure, completely unbothered by my presence.

I was devastated. My first instinct was to reach for the pocket knife in my pants and stab them all__ to make them pay for the shattering what little trust I had left. For a brief, dark moment l, I could almost feel the satisfaction of it. But I pushed the thought away before it could consume me. Violence wouldn't fix anything .

So I turned and left .

I expected him to chase after me, to beg for forgiveness, to reassure me it was all a mistake. But he didn't .

He didn't even try.

I was left alone with my thoughts as I hailed a taxi and headed back to my apartment.

When I arrived, something felt off. My front door was ajar, as if it had been forced open.

My instincts screamed at me to call the police, but before I could reach for my phone, I felt strong hands grab me from behind, a large hand clamped over my mouth, and the faint smell of something chemical filled my nostrils.

Chloroform!

I tried to struggle, to scream, but my strength faded quickly, and the world around me dissolved into darkness.

When I came to, I found myself tied to a chair, my mouth gagged so tightly that I could barely make a sound beyond muffled hums. My head throbbed as I tried to piece together how I had ended up here. The room was dim, and I could faintly make out the silhouettes of the people who had taken me. As soon as they realized I was awake, they wasted no time in explaining their demands.

My stepsister, they said, owed them an enormous sum of money due to her spiraling gambling addiction. Unable—or unwilling—to pay, my family had agreed to use me as collateral. The ultimatum was chillingly simple: either I pay up in three days, or I die.

Rage bubbled within me, sharp and hot. How could my own family do this to me? Anger turned to disgust as I realized the truth—I was expendable to them, a pawn they were willing to sacrifice to save themselves. Despite the weight of this betrayal, no tears came. Maybe it was because I already knew, deep down, that they didn't want me.

I didn't have the money; that much was certain. My captors eventually let me go, but not before making it clear that their threat was real. They dropped me off by the rode side and zoomed off. The next day in front of the house I had sworn never to return to. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the place that had always felt more like a prison than a home.

I wanted answers. I wanted to know what could possibly drive my family to put me in such a horrifying situation. As I approached the front door, voices drifted through an open window, stopping me in my tracks. One voice was painfully familiar—it was my stepfather.

Curiosity took over, and I crept closer, careful to stay hidden while still being able to hear. As I peeked through the window, my breath caught in my throat. The people my family were speaking to were my kidnappers.

My blood ran cold as realization dawned. It had all been a setup. The kidnapping, the threats—everything was staged. My family had orchestrated this entire nightmare just to extort money from me.

The room seemed to spin, and I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe they could stoop so low. My shock made me careless, and I stumbled, my foot snapping a dry branch beneath me. The sound was sharp and loud, cutting through their conversation like a knife.

The talking stopped. Panic surged as I tried to back away, but before I could retreat, the door flew open. My stepfather stood there, his fierce, unforgiving gaze locking onto me.

"Stop!" he shouted, but I didn't wait to hear what he'd say next. I turned and bolted, running as fast as I could. The area was isolated, the nearest houses far away. My lungs burned, and my heart pounded as his heavy footsteps closed in behind me. There was no one around to help, no doors I could knock on, and nowhere to hide.

I was truly on my own, running for my life from the people who should have been protecting me.

I felt like a prey being hunted, every step I took fueling his anger. His heavy foot steps thundered behind me, and I pushed myself harder, my body screaming in protest. The cold air bit at my skin, and my legs grew weaker with every stride. Pain shot through my chest, sharp and sudden, but I didn't understand why.

Confused, I stumbled and looked down. That's when I saw it_ the blade lodged in my chest, mere inches from my heart. A wet cough escaped my lips, blood spilling onto the snow covered ground as my body gave out beneath me. I collapsed, the winter's icy grip pressing against my skin.

Through blurred vision, I saw his face hovering above me, For the first time, there was no fury in his eyes_ only fear.

"Look what you made me do," he kept muttering, his voice trembling as he paced back and forth. "look what you made me do".

Then, without another word, he turned and left. I lay there, abandoned, the snow beneath me stained red as my own blood pooled around me.

Memories began to surface, unbidden and relentless _ moments of joy and sorrow, triumph and regret. Tears streamed down my face, but not from the physical pain of the knife in my chest. No, these tears came from something deeper: exhaustion.

I thought of everything I'd endured, the betrayals, the loneliness, the countless battles I'd fought just to survive. Even at thirty, I had never found true happiness. If only my life was destined different _ if only.

The pain started to fade, replaced by a numbness that crept over my body like a shroud. My breaths grew shallow, each one weaker than the last. I took one final breath, my chest rising and falling slowly, before the world around me dissolved into silence.