And there we have it. That's me Serena Hale scrolling through my phone as usual on a sunny afternoon, lying across my mom's guest bed like I had no care in the world. TikTok had become my little escape lately, the one place where I didn't have to think too much, just laugh at random videos or get lost in someone else's reality for a while. It was easier than sitting alone with my own thoughts.
The curtains were pulled halfway, sunlight spilling across my legs. I shifted a little, the mattress creaking softly, and adjusted my shorts so they wouldn't ride up too much. Again, That's me: petite, with long brown hair tumbling down my shoulders, dark eyes that people always say look like they carry secrets, a tiny waist I sometimes thought was too tiny, legs that made my best friend Nia joke I should have been a model, and feet I'd always been oddly proud of.
And again, that's me. Serena Hale. Too much for some, never enough for others.
And just as I was about to double-tap another video, there came a little knock on the door followed by a squeaky voice that didn't need an introduction.
"Serenaaaaa," my four-year-old sister, Elena, called out as if the world was ending.
I groaned. "Not now, Elena."
The door creaked open anyway. She peeked her little head in, her brown hair sticking out on both sides, eyes wide and curious like she'd just discovered a treasure map. She looked so much like me, just smaller, cuter, and so much more innocent.
"Please, I just want to ask you something," she whispered, padding in on her tiny feet.
"Elena, please, let me be," I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Not now. I'm not in the mood to play."
"But"
"No buts. Out." My tone was sharper than I meant it to be, but I just wanted to be alone.
She pouted, her little lips trembling like I'd broken her favorite toy, but she turned and padded back out. The door shut, and silence returned.
I sank deeper into the bed, back into my screen, back into the numbing comfort of my phone. But TikTok wasn't enough to silence the ghosts that crept in when I least expected them. My thumb hovered over the screen, but my mind had already drifted somewhere darker.
And just like that, I was back in that night.
The memory played like a broken film reel sharp, jerky, unavoidable. Derek. My ex. My mistake.
We'd been arguing about something stupid, something as small as an earpiece. He had asked me to drop it where he could find it, and I hadn't. Or maybe I had and he didn't see it. Either way, it didn't matter. Nothing ever mattered enough to deserve what came next.
"Why didn't you drop it where I said?" he'd shouted, standing over me, his voice already filled with heat.
"I told you, I left it on the table"
The slap landed before the sentence was even done. My face had whipped to the side, my breath catching in my chest. The sting burned, but what burned more was the realization: this wasn't the first time. He had promised again and again, and I had believed again and again.
I remembered sitting there that night, my cheek throbbing, my eyes wet but refusing to let the tears fall where he could see. It was late, too late to leave, and I had nowhere safe to go at that hour. So I sat. I waited for the script I knew too well: the apology, the tears, the promises.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'll never do that again. You know I love you."
Love. That word had felt so heavy, like a chain binding me to someone who knew exactly how much I wanted to believe it.
And I had stayed.
Why? Because I thought if I left, it meant I wasn't strong enough to fix it. Because I thought maybe, just maybe, love was supposed to hurt like this. But deep down, I knew it wasn't. Love wasn't supposed to feel like holding my breath, waiting for the next explosion.
The memory was so sharp, I almost flinched as if Derek's hand was about to swing again.
"Serena!"
My mom's voice cut through the air, sharp but not unkind.
I blinked, reality rushing back in. The slap dissolved into the walls, the bed, the sound of birds outside.
"Yes, Mom?" I called back, forcing my voice steady.
"Come here. I need you to run an errand."
That was my mom, Marian. Beautiful, fair-skinned, a body that still turned heads, and a personality that was both warm and distant. We hadn't always been close. In fact, we weren't close at all growing up. She wasn't there. I had grown up with my dad and my grandma, learning strength from them, learning love from them. Mom had come back into my life later, trying to stitch together a bond from scraps. And I was trying too, because maybe I wanted to believe in second chances not just in love, but in family.
That weekend, I was staying at her place. Just for a couple of days, because she said she missed me. Nia, my best friend and housemate, had gone to see her boyfriend anyway, so it made sense. But truthfully, part of me wanted to see if my mom and I could really become close again.
I pulled myself off the bed, slid my phone into my pocket, and walked to the living room. She handed me a short list scribbled on paper and some cash.
"Get these things from the store down the road," she said.
"Okay." I tucked the list into my pocket and slipped on my sandals.
The afternoon sun hit me as soon as I stepped outside. Bright, warm, pressing against my skin. The road stretched ahead, familiar yet alive with little details the chatter of neighbors, the smell of fried food from a nearby stall, the hum of a motorcycle speeding past.
I walked briskly, my mind half on the errand, half still tangled in thoughts I wished I could shake off.
And that's when I noticed it.
A car.
Moving slowly beside me.
At first, I thought maybe it was just a driver being cautious, but then I realized it was too deliberate. Every step I took, the car matched. I glanced out of the corner of my eye black, sleek, polished. The windows tinted but not too dark.
My stomach tightened.
I quickened my pace.
So did the car.
"What the hell?" I muttered under my breath.
I stopped, just for a second, pretending to adjust my sandal. The car rolled to a slow stop as well. That was when the window slid down, smooth and quiet.
My heart hammered. Was it Derek? Had he found me here?
Then the door opened.
Out stepped a man. Tall, confident, the kind of handsome that felt almost staged Like he belonged in a magazine, not on this street. Fair skin, sharp jawline, dark hair cut neatly, eyes that caught the sun just right.
He smiled.
And that was the moment everything changed.
"Hey," he said, voice calm, playful, like he knew me already. "You dropped something."
I froze, my breath hitching, my mind scrambling between fear and curiosity.