"Did you write that letter? You have already succeeded in robbing Stanley. Why on earth did you do this?"
A disdainful smile spread across her lips and she let out a cold snort.
"I just felt sorry for the old lady," she sneered. "I couldn't bear to see her being deceived, so I simply told her the truth. Let her know that her daughter is trash, unwanted by anyone. Who knew she couldn’t even handle that? Pathetic. She's getting more useless with age."
Her words pierced through me like a blade. I could no longer contain the burning hatred in my chest. My hand moved on its own, delivering a resounding slap across her face. The sharp sound echoed through the room, but instead of deterring her, it only seemed to fuel her malice. Her smile twisted into something more ferocious, more grotesque.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of scissors. In one fluid motion, she snipped off a strand of her own hair, letting it fall to the floor.
Before I could process what she was doing, she tossed the scissors to the ground with a loud clatter. I didn’t even have time to react before I was slammed into the wall by someone who had rushed in from behind.
The impact was so intense, pain exploded through my body and my vision blurred. I teetered on the edge of consciousness, barely able to make sense of what was happening around me.
Charles's eager greetings rang in his ears.
"Where is Sally hurt? Does it hurt?"
Sally burst into tears, covering her red and swollen cheeks and shaking her head.
"Charles, don't blame Jessica. I know she was angry that I took away Stanley and she was also careless. It doesn't matter if my hair is damaged. I could just tie it up during my wedding..."
By the time I regained my composure, Charles had already picked up the pair of scissors on the ground and walked towards me with a stern face.
"Jessica, apologize to Sally!"
I looked at him in disbelief.
"Are you crazy? Do you know what she did? She hurt my mother-"
Before I could finish speaking, he interrupted sharply.
"No matter what she does, you shouldn't do it! When did you become like this? I say it one last time, I apologize!"
I didn’t expect that after having known each other for 25 years, he would go to another woman and not even give me a chance to explain.
Blood oozed from the corners of his lips, but he still gritted his teeth and said, "Impossible! I'm already giving her an advantage by hitting her, otherwise I--"
Charles slapped me in the face.
It interrupted my words and my last thoughts about him.
"Jessica, I indulge you too much, you are so disobedient..."
He hit me hard on the head with a suitcase full of luggage.
The next second, I fainted from the pain.
When I woke up, I found myself lying on the bed in the bedroom. Charles had moved me there.
My hand instinctively reached up to touch my hair, but instead of feeling the familiar strands cascading down my back, my fingers grazed uneven patches of my scalp. My waist-length hair was gone. All that remained were mottled, jagged tufts, a grotesque reminder of what had been done to me.
Tears began to flow uncontrollably, each drop stinging as it trailed down my face, mingling with the sharp, raw pain that had settled deep in my bones.
I crawled to the bathroom, each movement igniting new waves of agony. When I finally reached the mirror, the sight before me made my breath catch in my throat. Red, angry welts crisscrossed my face, evidence of countless slaps. My skin bore the deep, jagged marks of nails that had torn into it. Blood had dried into dark, crusted scabs, mocking any attempt at composure.
I clenched my fists and bit back my sobs, forcing myself to look away from the mirror. There was no time to break down now. I had to leave.
Frantically, I searched the room for my luggage, the suitcase I had packed with trembling hands before everything unraveled. But it was nowhere to be found. Heart pounding, I stumbled downstairs, only to see the suitcase dumped carelessly in the trash can outside.
For a moment, I stared at it, my resolve wavering. But then, something inside me snapped. I wouldn’t pick it up. I wouldn’t cling to the remnants of my shattered dignity.
I turned my back on the discarded suitcase and walked away from the community.
As I stepped out onto the street, passers-by shot me curious, even pitying glances. Their eyes lingered on my swollen face and my uneven, exposed scalp. Shame threatened to consume me, but I kept moving forward, each step heavier than the last.
I entered a drugstore, avoiding the cashier’s gaze as I purchased a box of masks.
The moment I secured one over my face, hiding the scars and the humiliation, the tears came again, harder this time. They flowed freely, soaking into the fabric of the mask.
I hid in the rental house like a rat in the gutter for three days. I didn’t go out wearing a mask until the day of my mother’s funeral.
As soon as I arrived at the hotel door, I saw the wedding photos of Sally and Stanley. I suppressed the hatred in my heart and turned around and entered the private room next door.
While I wore mourning clothes and listen to the host's eulogy. Separated by a wall, a grand wedding was being held.
I went to the bathroom once, but when I came back, I bumped into Sally. Looking at the mourning clothes on my body, she immediately felt aggrieved and her eyes turned red.
"Jessica, I know you hate me for stealing Brother Stanley, but you can't wear mourning clothes at my wedding!"
Her shouts attracted the attention of many passers-by. In the blink of an eye, I was drowned out by the curses.
"Isn't this woman too vicious? You can't curse others to death even if you can't steal a man!"
"She was born but not raised by her mother. No wonder Mr. Lerman despises her! She is so vicious!"
"We are all here, why don't we support Mr. Lerman and Mrs. Lerman? Come on, come on, let's take off her mourning clothes together!"
Before I could explain, people swarmed me and started to take off my clothes.
Someone lifted my hat, exposing my mottled scalp. The surroundings instantly erupted with jeers and I covered my head and screamed, begging them to return my hat. But no one paid attention.
The flash was pointed at my head and I took pictures frantically.
I hid in the private room of the funeral in embarrassment. The door was squeezed open by them and the white scene inside made them stop.
Charles, as the best man, heard the news and came over.
"What's going on? The wedding is next door and you went to the wrong place."
The voices maintaining order stopped abruptly when they saw my mother’s name written on the elegiac couplet. The color drained from his face.
"Jessica? What is going on? Why are you here?"
