When I woke up that morning, I felt lighter, as though everything I had gone through just a day ago had vanished. It was as if I could fly. With that strange sense of freedom, I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen. The space looked unusually clean and fresh. The white marble countertops gleamed as though they had just been polished. As I stood there, savoring the satisfaction of seeing my kitchen spotless, the doorbell rang.
I hurried to the door and opened it to find a tall, young man holding a package. “Good morning. Isn’t today a perfect day?” he said, his face expressionless. His words confused me, and I could only nod as I took the package. When he left, an unsettling feeling washed over me, but I tried to shake it off.
To distract myself, I tied my long, brown hair into a loose ponytail and swapped my comfy clothes for my newly bought designer ones. Grabbing my keys, I shut the door behind me. As I approached the elevator, I suddenly heard a woman screaming.
The sound triggered a memory of my childhood—of the times I told my dad about our neighbor being abused and his silent refusal to intervene. I didn’t want to be like him. Unable to ignore the cries, I followed the sound and knocked on the door it was coming from.
A beautiful woman answered. Her face bore scars, and her eyes told a story of pain and endurance. I looked at her, silently asking if she was okay. Despite everything, she wore a blank expression and spoke without emotion. How could she seem so detached from what she was enduring?
As I tried to process this, a man appeared behind her. He looked older, his clothes straining against his frame, hinting at their financial struggles. His gaze shifted from her to me, and he asked, “How may I help you?”
Help me? The irony hit me hard. How could a man like him—a man who hurt his own wife—possibly help anyone? Was he even worthy of being called a man? “I want to talk to her,” I said firmly, ignoring the tension in the air.
“I don’t think Sofia can help you,” he replied with a smug tone, his words dripping with arrogance.
Anger bubbled inside me, threatening to overflow. How could someone like him get away with this? I wanted the world to see him for what he truly was. Without thinking, I began shouting, raising my voice to draw attention. People started gathering, curious about the commotion.
Then, I saw Finn—a friend I thought I could rely on—walking toward me. He came close and whispered harshly, “Are you crazy? How dare you interfere in their relationship like that?”
I stared at him in disbelief. He had seen the bruises, the scars, the pain etched on Sofia’s face, yet he did nothing. How could he turn a blind eye? Did he have no sense of justice, no humanity?
The weight of betrayal crushed me. I ran out of the building, my heart pounding with frustration and sorrow. Why did no one care? Why was everyone so indifferent to a woman being destroyed piece by piece, day by day?
I couldn’t bear it anymore. I wanted to escape—from this apathetic world, from a place where we had lost ourselves and the humanity we claimed to cherish.