Isa yawned, stretching her arms wide, her fingertips grazing the cool air as sleep clung to her limbs. A soft glow from the artificial light pooled around her, casting faint shadows against the walls. She exhaled into her pillow, the air crisp against her skin.
Then— Chime.
The sudden sound shattered the quiet, jolting her half-conscious mind.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Dim morning light seeped through the curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the ceiling. She groaned, blinking against the glow before turning her head toward the window. Though the heavy fabric of the curtain blocked the view outside, she could feel the weight of the day pressing in.
Her brows drew together. A sluggish haze of confusion settled over her. Where am I?
For a brief, disoriented second, her thoughts drifted aimlessly through the fog of sleep—until realization struck like a slap to the face. Her heart lurched.
She rolled onto her back, hand darting toward the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled, snatching up her phone. The screen flared to life.
She gasped. 7:00 AM.
And her mother was calling.
A cold sweat prickled her spine. She shot up as if struck by lightning, her pulse hammering in her ears.
“My God!” She clutched a fistful of her hair, panic tightening her chest. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the phone, staring at the ringing screen like it might explode.
She’s calling to check if I’ve left for work. If I answer, she’ll know.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts.
I still have time. Just bathe, dress, and—
Her stomach plummeted.
Dress!
The phone tumbled onto the bed as she scrambled toward the wardrobe. Yanking the doors open, she found her white shirt and black suit skirt hanging inside—unironed.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. “You have to iron your dress, Isa. And don’t mess this job up with your incompetence.”
Isa’s jaw clenched, heat rising to her cheeks. She grabbed the clothes with a sharp pull, her grip tightening as frustration burned in her chest. She lunged for the iron, but her knee crashed into the wardrobe’s edge in her haste.
“Ow!” she hissed, rubbing the stinging spot before shaking off the pain.
No time for this.
Spreading her shirt on the bed, she plugged in the iron, waiting as it hissed and warmed. The air grew heavy, infused with the sharp scent of hot metal. She pressed the iron in hurried strokes, barely smoothing out the wrinkles. The clock on her desk ticked forward.
7:15.
Her throat tightened.
I can still make it.
Switching to the skirt, her hands moved even faster, the fabric slipping slightly as she struggled to keep it steady. Her eyes flicked between the skirt and the clock—Then, her grip faltered.
A flash of searing heat.
“Ah!”
The iron clattered to the floor, its weight crashing against the wooden boards. Isa crumpled to her knees, clutching her burned finger. A violent throb pulsed through her hand, the pain spiraling up her arm in hot, electric streaks. Her teeth clamped together as she curled inward, eyes squeezed shut. A lump swelled in her throat, but she refused to let the tears fall.
Then, like a cruel trick, Nelson’s voice drifted through her mind.
His smirk, effortless. His deep chuckle as he twirled his beard between his fingers. He had always lounged back in that chair, elbows propped, eyes glinting with self-assured arrogance.
“I’ll change your life, Isa.” His voice had been smooth, dripping with conviction. “You have an amazing voice, incredible lyrics. You’re a talented singer. I promise to make your dream come true.”
Her stomach twisted, a hollow ache settling in her ribs. Isa sniffled, forcing herself upright. She glanced at her hand. The skin was red, swollen, the burn throbbing with each heartbeat. Her gaze drifted to the broken iron lying lifeless on the floor.
Another sharp sniffle.
If only he had kept his promise… If only that bastard had done what he swore… I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t have ended up like this.
Her eyes flicked to the clock.
7:30 AM.
The realization struck like a fist to the gut.
Her mother’s words clawed at her mind. Useless. Incompetent. A failure. Lazy.
Hot tears welled and spilled down her cheeks, but she wiped them away harshly, as if she didn’t even deserve the comfort of crying.
Isa squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling a trembling breath.
Enough. Just get through today.
But no matter how many breaths she took, the ache in her chest refused to subside. The room around her felt unbearably small, suffocating. The soft hum of morning traffic outside felt distant, disconnected. With one last swipe at her damp cheeks, she forced herself toward the bathroom.
Thanks for reading!
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