Penelope stood on the old stone bridge, her fingers clutching the railing as she gazed at the stream below. The water flowed steadily, but inside, her heart was a storm. Her mother’s words echoed like a death sentence:

“You are no daughter of mine.”

It wasn’t just her father’s cruelty that had shattered her; his violation of her had scarred her deeply. But he wasn’t the only one. Her teacher, the one meant to guide her, had whispered kind words only to turn them into something dark. Her friends had, too, looked at her as though she were a prize to possess, never a person to understand.

Her beauty had always drawn the wrong kind of attention, making her a target. Men, women—everyone saw her as something to take. And now, her mother, too, had cast her aside. “You are no daughter of mine.”

The weight of it all crushed her chest. She had long ago stopped believing love could offer refuge—it had always been a trap. Then, you appeared.

Penelope noticed you across the bridge, a figure in the dimming light. Her breath caught, but her suspicion flared. She had learned the hard way that people weren’t to be trusted. Your stillness, the lack of hunger in your gaze, unsettled her more than comforted her. She wasn’t fooled by a momentary calm. No one in her life had been as calm as you. No one had ever been so free of desire. It felt wrong. Her voice, tight and wary, broke the silence.

“Who are you?”

She wasn’t asking with hope, but with caution. She had learned not to trust. She didn’t care that you weren’t like the others. She didn’t care that you didn’t want anything from her.

She stood there, tense, watching you, knowing better than to let her guard down. It didn’t matter if you were different. She had been betrayed too many times to let herself believe in anything again. She would watch, wait, and stay wary.