Her fingers were numb as they held the letter, the paper almost burning in her grasp. The words on the page weren’t just ink; they were pieces of a past she didn’t know she’d left behind. And yet, as her eyes traced each line, it all came rushing back.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been here.
She had already lived this moment before, the one where time had cracked open, where choices and memories collided. But she couldn’t remember exactly when it happened—only that this wasn’t her first battle with Jace, or the first time she’d felt like she was losing herself.
The memory pulsed, strong and suffocating, like a bruise finally surfacing. Another Ava had walked these halls.
Another Ava had faced Jace. And that girl had tried, desperately, to rewrite the story she thought she could control. But she hadn’t succeeded.
Now, looking at the words in front of her, Ava understood the difference. This wasn’t about rewriting the past or fixing someone who didn’t want to be fixed. It was about her.
Her truth. Her voice. Her strength.
She stood, the letter still clenched tightly in her fist. The hallway lights flickered above her, but she didn’t look up.
Her feet moved with a purpose she hadn’t known she had, her body drawn toward the one place she’d avoided for so long—the bathroom, where she’d passed countless versions of herself and never truly seen them.
When she turned the corner, the mirror stood there, just like it had every day, its surface reflecting everything she’d tried to bury.
The girl in the glass didn’t flinch when she saw Ava. She didn’t turn away. She stared, cheeks tear-streaked, lips trembling. And there was something different in her eyes. Not a victim. Not a girl hiding behind a smile. But a survivor.
Ava’s breath caught.
‘You weren’t broken,’ she whispered to the girl in the glass. ‘You were just never believed in.’
Her voice cracked with the weight of it, the grief of being unseen for so long. But the reflection in front of her didn’t recoil. It stood steady. She didn’t look away either. Not this time.
She wiped the tears that had slid down her face, and her hand didn’t tremble. It was steady, sure. Ava’s breath evened out. The silence around her wasn’t suffocating anymore.
It was earned. Hard-won.
You were always good enough, she whispered again, her voice more certain this time. They just didn’t know how to hold you.
And with those words, something inside her loosened. For the first time, the weight of her teenage self’s pain felt like it was behind her. She wasn’t running from it anymore.
She didn’t need to apologize for surviving it. She didn’t need anyone’s validation to move forward.
The hallway outside buzzed with the usual noise of school, the sound of lockers clanging and footsteps pounding on the floor, but Ava felt different. The echo of her old self wasn’t following her.
She had finally stopped apologizing for existing. She had stopped hiding.
As she turned toward the door, she glanced at the reflection one last time. For once, it didn’t break her. It held her. And she held it.
Her hand rested on the doorframe as she pushed open the back stairwell door. The sound of footsteps that used to make her flinch—footsteps that had always felt like a threat—didn’t bother her anymore.
She climbed the stairs slowly, one hand trailing along the railing, her body moving with the confidence of someone who had spent years finding their strength.
Ava stepped into it, feeling the warmth hit her skin. The world was suddenly brighter, sharper, in a way she’d never allowed it to be before.
She didn’t know what would come next, but she didn’t feel powerless. Not anymore. She inhaled deeply, savoring the moment, and then—footsteps. Quick, uneven. Heavy.
Ava’s breath caught in her chest. She turned slowly, already knowing who it was, but not fully prepared for what she would see.
Jace's face was bruised, his lip split and swollen, blood still dark against his skin. His knuckles were raw, the skin torn in places. His breath came in ragged gasps, like he’d run a marathon just to reach her.
For a second, everything stopped. Ava’s heart stopped. Her lungs stopped. The world held its breath.
He didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, eyes wide and wild, chest heaving. His presence felt like a storm was about to break—except this time, it wasn’t the kind of storm she was used to. This wasn’t about him breaking her. This was different.
Ava didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
“Jace?” she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper.
His mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. He just stared at her like he didn’t know how to start.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, finally, his voice raw with exhaustion.
Ava’s body went rigid.
Jace stepped forward, his hands shaking.
“There’s something I never told you,” he said, almost to himself. “And I think it’s the reason I ruined everything.”