Chapter 8 What Was Mine
The next six weeks crawled by in a blur of white ceilings, painkillers, and the sharp sting of every bandage change.
When the ophthalmologist lifted the gauze a few weeks in, all I saw was a washed-out cloud of light.
“Some vision may return,” he said gently.
I didn’t believe him.
He didn’t believe himself.
By week five, most of the bandages came off.
That was when I truly saw it.
My face. Or what was left of it.
The skin looked tight and glossy, stretched in angry shades of red and pink. My eyebrow on that side was gone. My cheek looked… melted. Pulled. Wrong.
Monster was the only word that came to mind.
By week six, the surgeon told me, “You’re medically stable for discharge. Follow-ups are scheduled. You’ll need ointments, sun protection, and physical therapy.”
I left the hospital alone. Called a cab. Kept my head turned away from the driver so he wouldn’t stare.
The seatbelt scraped across the tender skin on my chest, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound.
My apartment complex looked exactly the same.
I didn’t know why that surprised me.
Trauma didn’t scorch buildings. It only scorched people.
I climbed the stairs slowly, every step tugging at the raw skin beneath my bandages. I reached my door, dug out my key, and—
It didn’t fit.
I tried again. The lock wouldn’t turn.
Then I saw it.
A piece of paper taped crookedly across the door:
Unit Cleared. Locks Changed. Contact Management for Further Information.
And underneath, in smaller print:
Eviction enforced following prior warning. Tenant belongings removed as per terms.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
My things.
My clothes.
Every piece of my life.
Gone.
My throat tightened until breathing felt like swallowing broken glass.
I couldn’t break down. Not here. Not where people could see.
So I turned and walked away. Each step slower than the last, like my body was resisting it, until I reached the street and called another cab.
When we pulled up to my parents’ house, the driver cleared his throat.
“Miss? That’ll be—”
“I… I need to ask my mother to pay,” I whispered. “I don’t have—”
The words wouldn’t come.
He nodded, but I caught the flicker of discomfort on his face.
I walked to the door with shame prickling hotter than any of my wounds.
I rang the bell.
My mother opened the door with a glossy smile that froze when she saw me standing there with hospital bags hanging weakly from one hand.
Her gaze darted to the ruined half of my face, then snapped back to my eyes. A tiny grimace flickered across her mouth, gone almost before it appeared, smoothed away with practiced speed.
“Ashley?” she breathed. “You’re… home?”
“I need you to pay for the cab,” I said quietly. “They changed the locks at my apartment. Everything’s gone.”
For a moment she just stared.
“Oh. Of course. Of course.” She hurried past me toward the car. “I just didn’t expect you back yet. We’re so busy this week, you know how it is. I’m sorry we could only visit a few times, but your father’s schedule has been impossible, and Apple’s been… well, you know.”
Busy.
Right.
Too busy to stay an extra ten minutes to learn their daughter was being discharged.
She paid the driver, then came back with a bright smile.
“Well,” she said, opening the door wider, “come in, dear. You can stay until you figure… everything out.”
I stepped inside, the familiar space feeling distant.
She followed me down the hall to what used to be my room.
Now it was a guest room, apparently.
“All your old things are in storage, don’t worry,” she said. “And oh, honey, just so you know, Apple’s coming for dinner tonight.” She smiled like this was pleasant news. “She has some big news she wants to share. It’ll be nice. Like old times.”
I stared at her. She seemed genuinely oblivious.
I hadn’t seen Apple since that hotel.
No text.
No apology.
No visit.
Nothing.
And now my mother wanted to pretend we were all going to sit around the table like nothing had happened.
At dinner, Apple swept in like a breeze, glowing, perfect, effortless, while I sat stiffly at the table, my hair covering the ruined half of my face.
“Hey,” she said brightly as she slid into her chair. Her eyes flicked over my face before she pasted on a sympathetic smile.
“Oh, Ash. That must hurt.”
I didn’t answer.
Dinner was quiet, tense, every clink of silverware scraping across my nerves. Finally my mother cleared her throat.
“Honey, what’s the big news you wanted to share?”
Apple smiled shyly. “Um… I’m pregnant.”
Mom gasped. Dad blinked. Apple rested a hand on her stomach like she was already posing for a maternity shoot.
Something inside me snapped cleanly.
“Whose is it?” I asked.
Apple’s smile faltered. “Ashley… you know who.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t pretend this is normal. You slept with my boyfriend. And now you’re having his baby and we’re all just supposed to celebrate?”
Mom lifted a hand, her voice tight. “Ashley, please—”
“No.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t stop. “I was in love with him. For four years. And you—” I looked at Apple, “—you didn’t even come see me in the hospital.”
Her eyes shifted away. “I… didn’t know what to say.”
“You could’ve started with ‘sorry.’”
Silence dropped over the table like a weight.
Dad cleared his throat. “Honey, Apple has been through a lot. You know her history. She deserves happiness.”
I let out a hollow, broken laugh. “And I don’t?”
Mom sighed softly. “We aren’t taking sides.”
But they already had.
It was in the way they looked at her. Gentle. Protective. Careful with their tone, like she might break.
Like what she’d done to me didn’t matter. Like it had been… inevitable. Excusable.
Because she had “been through so much.”
Apple exhaled shakily. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t plan any of it. But I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be happy.”
Before I could respond, Dad leaned forward.
“And how does Nick feel about… everything?”
His tone sounded neutral, but I knew that look. That calculating glint. The same look he wore whenever he asked when Nick and I were going to get married.
Nick came from money. Influence. Status.
Dad had always wanted me to “secure” that future.
Now he looked at Apple like maybe she could salvage what I had apparently failed to deliver.
Apple tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Nick’s… happy. Really happy. He can’t wait to meet the baby.”
The words hit like a fist under my ribs, knocking the breath out of me.
Dad nodded, satisfied. “Good. Good. And will he… make an honest woman out of you?”
My mother lit up at the idea. Dad repeated, already envisioning it, “A wedding before the baby comes would be—”
I couldn’t listen anymore.
I pushed my chair back. The sharp scrape of wood against tile made everyone flinch.
Mom reached for me. “Ashley—”
I stepped out of her reach.
“I’m tired,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”
No one stopped me as I walked away.