The mirror

The discharge papers were signed by noon.

Elaine helped Lila into a wheelchair, though Lila could have walked. The body was weak, yes, but functional. The ankle sprain was mild; the ribs were bruised, not cracked. The concussion would heal.

But Lila let her new mother fuss. She needed Elaine’s trust, and that meant playing the part of the fragile daughter who needed protection.

The ride home was a twenty-minute bus journey through streets that grew progressively narrower and shabbier. Lila watched through the window, cataloguing landmarks, escape routes, points of interest. Old habits.

The Savage apartment was on the third floor of a building that had long since surrendered to entropy. The hallway smelled of cabbage and cigarette smoke. The lock on the door was cheap a simple pin tumbler that Lila could have picked in ten seconds in her former life.

Elaine unlocked it with a flourish, as if trying to make the small space feel like a palace. “Home sweet home,” she said, her voice bright with forced cheer.

Lila stepped inside.

The apartment was small a living room, a kitchenette, two bedrooms. The furniture was mismatched, the walls were scuffed, and the single window overlooked an alley. But it was clean. Elaine had clearly spent the days of Lisa’s hospitalization scrubbing every surface, as if cleanliness could ward off grief.

“Your room’s at the end of the hall,” Elaine said. “I’ll make us some soup.”

Lila nodded and walked toward the bedroom, testing her body with each step. The ankle held. The ribs complained but didn’t buckle. She would need to rebuild her strength systematically cardio, resistance training, combat drills adapted to this smaller frame. But that would come later. First, she needed information.

Lisa’s bedroom was a time capsule of a life cut short. The walls were covered with photographs—landscapes, candid shots of city streets, a few portraits of Elaine laughing at the kitchen table. A battered laptop sat on a desk beside a stack of photography books. The bed was narrow, covered with a quilt that looked hand-stitched.

Lila sat on the edge of the bed and began to search.

She found the journal in the desk drawer, hidden beneath a stack of notebooks. It was cheap, with a floral cover, its pages filled with Lisa’s cramped handwriting.

She opened it.

October 12th – Derek smiled at me today. For real, not the mean smile he gives everyone else. Mandy says he’s just being nice, but I think maybe…

November 3rd – He kissed me behind the gym. He said I was special. I know it sounds stupid, but I believe him.

January 20th – He didn’t talk to me at all today. When I tried to say hi, he just walked past. Mandy said I’m imagining things. Maybe I am.

March 14th – I saw them. I saw him and Mandy. I don’t know what to do.

April 5th – Everyone hates me. I don’t know what I did wrong. I just wanted someone to love me.

The entries grew shorter, more desperate, until they stopped altogether two weeks before the accident.

Lila closed the journal.

She understood Lisa Savage now. A girl who wanted to be seen, who believed in the kindness of others, who trusted when she should have been wary. A girl who was destroyed by people who saw her vulnerability as an invitation.

I was the same, Lila thought. I trusted Marcus. I trusted Vivian. And they killed me for it.

She looked at her reflection in the small mirror on the wall. Lisa’s face stared back—too thin, too pale, with dark circles under her eyes. But the eyes themselves were different now. Where Lisa’s had been soft, Lila’s were hard. Where Lisa’s had pleaded, Lila’s calculated.

“I’ll make them pay,” she whispered to the reflection. “For both of us.”

She stood and tested her balance. The body was weak, but the mind was sharp. She would train. She would build. She would become something this world had never seen.

From the kitchen, she heard Elaine humming—an old song, slightly off-key, trying to create normalcy out of ruin.

Lila walked to the doorway and watched her for a moment. Elaine was stirring soup, her back straight, her movements economical. A woman who had learned to survive on scraps.

I will fix this, Lila promised. I will give you a life worthy of the daughter you lost.

She turned away from the kitchen and went back to the bedroom. The laptop sat on the desk, waiting.

She opened it, her fingers finding the keyboard slowly Lisa’s fingers, not hers and began to search.

Stocks. Cryptocurrency. Online marketplaces. She had spent her former life dismantling corporate empires. Now she would build one from nothing.

It was almost midnight when Elaine knocked on the doorframe. “You should rest.”

Lila looked up from the screen. She had already mapped out a plan: start with small online trades using the money from Lisa’s part-time job savings, scale up, diversify. It would take time, but time was something she had.

“I will,” Lila said. She smiled a soft smile, the smile Lisa would have given. “Thank you, Mom.”

Elaine’s eyes glistened. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

After she left, Lila turned back to the laptop. The smile faded.

They took your life, Lisa. They took your future.

But I’m going to build something from the ashes. And when I’m done, everyone who hurt you will know what it feels like to lose everything.

She worked through the night.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***