Broken Pianist, Unbreakable Spirit Returns

I ran. I ran until my lungs burned, until my legs screamed, until the world spun in a dizzying haze of pain and terror. My escape was a blur, a frantic scramble th

w me whole. Just as I thought I couldn't take another step, a sound reached m

y trauma, registered only

tion, oblivious to my tattered clothes, my bleeding wounds, my

ng gowns and tailored suits. And there, on a brightly lit stage, was Joshua. My fiancé. He was delivering a powerful sp

y to host lavish charity events, to fund musical performances, to deliver inspiring spee

a canvas of bruises, cuts, and cigarette burns, was exposed for all to see. The stench of my own fe

c faltered, then stopped. All the glittering spotlights, meant for Joshua, f

ed in an instant. The warmth drained from his eyes, replaced by a

livered in a low, furious hiss, were laced with barely contained rage. "What in God's name

on, the torture, the unimaginable pain-was all of it just "drama" to him? My wounds, my scars, the profound agony

bed, my voice a ragged whisper, "why didn't you save me? We've known each other si

per horror, the life we had almost crea

shed me away, a harsh shove that sent me stumbling backwards into the horrified crowd. H

eed to learn to behave. To be discreet." He glanced around at the gaping faces, the flashing camera

acting. He thought my agony was a show. I stared at him, at the m

ief and shock. His eyes remained dry, his expression