2014

The house was dark, save for the flickering light of the television, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the night was still, the world seemingly at peace. But within these four walls, a storm was brewing.

"Get out of this house, you worthless bitch!" The man's voice, slurred by alcohol, echoed through the small living room, breaking the silence like a gunshot. His words were venomous, dripping with contempt. "Can't even have food ready when I come home. You live off my money, you leech! You get to dress like this because of me, and this is how you repay me?"

He reached out, his hand shaking with fury, and with a violent yank, tore the blouse the woman was wearing. The fabric ripped easily as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. The sound of the tear was loud in the room, almost as loud as the silence that had briefly hung in the air.

---

In the next room, twelve-year-old Sithara pressed her hands tightly over her ears, trying desperately to block out the horror unfolding just a few feet away. Her father was home, drunk again. The familiar sounds of shattering glass, harsh cries, and the sickening slap of skin against skin filled the house, trapping the chaos in every corner.

She curled into herself on the floor, her back pressed against the door, as if it could somehow shield her from the violence. Tears streamed down her face, and she choked back sobs, knowing that making a sound would only make things worse. She listened to the chaos, powerless to stop it, powerless to even move.

This wasn't the first time she had heard this. It wasn't the first time she had hidden away, praying for it to end. But this time, something was different. Something inside her was breaking, a fragile hope that had been clinging to her heart for as long as she could remember.

Why did her mother stay? Why did she keep trying to fix things, to make them right, when nothing could ever be right with him? Sithara couldn't understand it, couldn't comprehend why they hadn't just left, run away somewhere peaceful, somewhere far from the terror that gripped their home every night.

She wiped away her tears with trembling hands and forced herself to stand. This was sick. And she was tired of it. Tired of the fear, tired of the helplessness. Her mother was sick today, bedridden with a high fever that's why she hadn't been able to cook. Sithara knew it wasn't her mother's fault and knew she couldn't have done anything differently. But that didn't stop the rage in her father's eyes, the way he seemed to find any excuse to unleash his anger.

Summoning every ounce of courage her twelve-year-old self possessed, she reached out and unlocked the door. The sound of the latch turning was like a gunshot in the quiet hallway. She hesitated for a moment, fear gnawing at her insides, but then she stepped out into the living room.

The scene before her was worse than she had imagined. Her mother lay on the floor, her blouse torn, her face streaked with tears and smeared with blood. Her father stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with drunken fury. He was panting, taking a brief pause from his violent outburst, but she could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. He wasn't done. Not yet.

"S-stop it. I'll... I'll try to make something," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Her father's head snapped towards her, his eyes narrowing into slits. For a moment, he didn't move, just stared at her, his gaze as sharp as a knife. Then, a twisted smile curled his lips. "Ah, there you are, you little-"

The slap came out of nowhere, faster than she could react. It struck her like a bolt of lightning, the force of it sending her crashing to the floor. Pain exploded in her cheek, radiating outwards, and she gasped, stunned by the suddenness of it.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The world went silent, the only sound the ringing in her ears. Her eyes widened, and something inside her shifted. A fire ignited in her chest, burning away the fear, the helplessness. She felt as though she could move the world, a surge of energy and fury welling up from deep within her. Her eyes burned, red from crying-or perhaps from the sheer rage coursing through her veins. The frustration she had with herself, for being unable to do anything, for failing to protect both herself and her mother from the monster before her, boiled over.

And in that moment, something changed.

She got to her feet, her body trembling with adrenaline. Her father was still smiling, a cruel, mocking smile that made her blood boil. She didn't think. She didn't plan. She just acted.

With all her might, she shoved the monster in front of her. Her small hands pressed against his stomach, and she pushed with everything she had. Amazingly, she managed to knock him off balance, as if she were a seasoned NFL player. Maybe it was his drunken state that made it possible, but at that moment, she didn't care. All that mattered was, he was down, and she had done it.

But he wasn't down for long. Just as he tried to push her away, she bit down on his arm with all the strength she could muster. The taste of blood filled her mouth and the man groaned in pain, his face twisting in anger.

"Of course, you little brat! Just like your mother," he spat, his voice filled with venom.

But Sithara had underestimated him. What did she know at her age? What did she know about the real strength and the darkness inside him? With a sudden burst of anger, he grabbed her by the shoulders with a vice-like grip. Before she could react, he slammed her against the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of her.

Then, he began to strangle her.

At first, she struggled, her small body fighting against his powerful grip. Her lungs burned for air, but his hands were unyielding, and she gasped desperately. Tears streamed down her face, her vision blurring as the room darkened at the edges. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she felt herself slipping away, her strength fading.

She wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but no sound came. The world spun around her. The oppressive darkness was closing in, pulling her under its cold embrace.

But then, through the fog, she heard it. The sound of glass shattering, followed by a heavy thud. The grip around her neck loosened, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. The world was still spinning, but somehow, she was still alive.

As the darkness claimed her, she welcomed it like an old friend, the black void a respite from the pain and fear. The last thing she felt was a strange, comforting numbness before everything went silent.

In the suffocating darkness, Sithara's mind drifted away from the chaos, the pain, and the fear. The world she had known-the endless nights of terror and the unbearable weight of helplessness-faded into a distant memory.

---

Love was a funny word, she thought, a term that had always seemed to mock her reality. It was a concept she had heard about but never truly felt, overshadowed by the cruelty that surrounded her. As she slipped into unconsciousness, the promise of escape, of freedom from the violence, was the last thought that brought her solace.

Maybe love was out there, just beyond her reach, like a sun forever eclipsed by darkness. But deep down, a gnawing ache told her the truth she feared-perhaps she wasn't destined for love at all. The thought clung to her, a shadow that wouldn't let go, suffocating the hope she barely dared to hold onto.

This night shattered her innocence, marking the beginning of a journey into the unknown-a place where hope and despair would weave together in ways she could never have imagined.

And maybe in the darkest moments, the strength to change begins with a single act of defiance.

---------------------------♡

Author's note

Thank you for reading this prologue. I know the themes here are heavy and intense, and I want to acknowledge that this story delves into some difficult topics like domestic violence and trauma. I hope to explore the resilience of the human spirit and the complexities of love, even in the darkest of times.

And please remember that while this story may begin in darkness, there is always the possibility of light ahead.

If you enjoyed this prologue, I'd love for you to vote, comment, and share your thoughts. You can also follow me on Instagram @Bhagiwrts, where I'll be posting updates and behind-the-scenes content related to all my stories. Your support means the world to me!

Thank you for being here.

- Bhagiwrts.