“Ruth, I thought your remarks at the orphanage were just childish nonsense. I didn’t take them to heart and even felt bad for you being stuck with that butcher, so I bought you clothes and snacks.
“But now? Now I see you’re just a cruel, nasty kid.
“Don’t contact me again.”
The line went dead. Ruth stared at her phone, her fingers scrambling to type a message.
The screen glowed faintly in the dim room, a greenish hue washing over her face.
Each message she sent came back with a “Message Failed” notification.
Miriam had blocked her.
***
When I got home, Miriam was all smiles, meeting me at the door with a steaming bowl of chochoyotes.
Benjamin sat on the couch, pretending to read the newspaper. For once, he actually looked… relaxed when he glanced my way.
After I polished off the bowl, Benjamin cleared his throat. “Suri, why don’t you visit my company this weekend? You’ve mentioned wanting to see it.
“When you graduate, I’ll make sure there’s a spot for you—anything below manager, your choice.”
It took me a moment to look up from my bowl. Smiling brightly, I replied, “Appreciate it, Dad, but I’m busy this weekend.”
Whether his company thrived or crashed? Not my problem.
***
Back at school, Ruth looked like a thunderstorm about to hit, her glare burning into the back of my head.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn around. I kept my chin up and stayed locked on my notes.
In my last life, school had been ripped away from me the second Jeremy adopted me. He forced me to quit and work at his butcher shop.
I tried to fight it—once. A few hard slaps knocked the fight out of me.
After that, it was all pig pens and slaughterhouses. Days picking livestock and inspecting carcasses, nights crawling into bed smelling like filth and defeat.
Meanwhile, Ruth’s social media was a nonstop parade of everything I couldn’t have: designer bags, fancy dinners, beaches halfway across the world. She was living in color while I was stuck in dirt and gray.
Back then, I envied her so much it hurt.
Now, sitting here with a textbook in my hands, the smell of paper and ink hit me, and I had to blink fast to keep the tears from falling.
***
After class, Ruth was already surrounded by her crew—a bunch of girls rocking heavy eyeliner, ripped jeans, and that classic grunge, don’t-care vibe. Same hooligan squad she rolled with in our last life. Somehow, she’d found them again, like clockwork.
Not my problem. I kept walking.
