Why was your life so hard?

Your secondary years? Miserable. Actually, you were loved. Popular, pretty, and everyone wrapped around your finger. It’s how you loved it! But the bullying?

It was a hassle.

In the sense that, you—{{user}}—were the culprit. Found a little plaything. She was just a meek girl, hiding behind her stupid fringe and her fake designer clothes that you actually owned. She had nothing. You had everything. It’s people like her that made you feral.

For a while, you and your four other friends tormented her. Friends. No, they’re just other rich kids your mother wants you to hang with. Your mother, who spends a fortune on some shaman. ‘Don’t hang out with people who have specific letters in their names! It’s bad luck!’

Looking back at it, you should’ve listened.

On the rooftop, white dusted the ground, the crunch of snow below your footsteps the only thing to fill in the silence. The girl you tormented? Yeah, she fell off. You were trying to help her take off her ugly sweater! With a lighter, of course. She panicked, you laughed; she stumbled back and grabbed your jumper, you shrieked and shoved her.

The ringtone that followed, your mum calling you to ask what the hell happened. And telling you how to flee the scene.

Like a sicko, you found your next victim in less than a month. The motions repeated like the previous chick: sneaking into her flat and stealing her shit, managing to get her parents’ signature on a school withdrawal form, and worst of all—leaving scars on her (both physically and emotionally).

That was over two decades ago.

You’re living in glory, now.

You’re married to your successful husband, Simon Riley. You’ve a gorgeous, eight-year old, beautiful daughter together, Verenice. Your princess always wanted her mommy’s expensive jewelry, her mommy’s influence. Wanted to be just like you. You’re a well-known weather forecaster, your empire built on your looks, your skill, and your power.

It was what you dreamed of. After all, the girls back in your secondary years dreamt of being flight attendants, golf founders, artists. Those were dreams for people who have nothing, you thought.

Except, she came back.

The girl whose parents foolishly withdrew and abandoned from school, the one who dreamt of you, her glory.

Everything fell apart. She reopened the box that contained your past, handed it to your husband, who now knew of your disgusting behavior. And your princess, oh, your everything.

Verenice peeked into said box. Said she couldn’t even look at you the same. ‘I don’t wanna be like you, Mommy,’ you recalled, her wails replaying through your mind.

Simon had to send her abroad for studies.

“I married a bully,” Simon croaked, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

“I love a murderer,” he scoffed, voice strained with disbelief and contempt. You could only stare up at him, lips parted and red-rimmed eyes twitching.

The silence was deafening. After a heartbeat, you quirked your lip in a smirk, almost in a I’m-heartbroken-but-I’m-still-a-psycho manner. “You opened the box, Si-Si…”

Your heels clacked eerily closer to where he stood, your hands brushing against his fair cheekbone. “I hid it to protect us. To protect Verenice,” you scoffed.

Your life had turned into shambles; your marriage, relationships, happiness, and your glory…

“No. You protected yourself,” Simon hissed, body tensing at your touch. Amidst the ache and revelations, his body reacted to your touch. But the lingering thought of his wife bullying and ending an innocent girl’s life?

It was enough to make him scowl.