Ten Years in Hell

The kitchen exhaust fan roared as hot oil splattered onto my wrist, burning a fine network of red marks into my skin. I've long since become accustomed to this kind of pain; ten hellish years of torment, far worse than this, have been all too common. As I carried the freshly cooked dishes out, my prosthetic foot caught on the slick tiles, nearly causing me to stumble. "Be careful!" the foreman snapped impatiently. "Do you have any idea what that would cost you?" I lowered my head and muttered, "Sorry," shielding the scars on my face as I hastened toward the assigned dining table. My eyes landed on the man's profile by the table, and the tray in my hand suddenly jerked, sauce almost spilling over. It's Samuel Stern. This is the man who cast me into the abyss. Ten years have passed since I last saw him, yet he remains unchanged—surrounded by admirers, dressed in a suit, radiating noble poise. Ten years ago, it was the same face that, under threat from the kidnappers, without hesitation, abandoned me with three months pregnant, all to reclaim his delicate first lover, Hannah Leslie. "Sir, your meal." I swallowed the tremor in my throat. Samuel glanced up at the sound, and when his eyes landed on me, his pupils suddenly contracted; the knife and fork in his hands clattered sharply onto the plate. "You... who are you?" His voice carried a tremor of disbelief and shock, his gaze flickering repeatedly over the scars on my face and my crippled left leg. At that moment, a gentle female voice spoke: "Samuel, what's wrong?" Hannah approached, clad in an exquisite dress, linking her arm with Samuel's, her eyes casting a calculated glance of doubt toward me. Following closely behind was a boy of seven or eight, whose features bore some faint resemblance to Samuel. The boy saw my face, immediately furrowing his brows and retreating behind Hannah, shouting loudly, "Mom, there's a monster!" The grating sound made my whole body stiffen. Hannah quickly covered the boy's mouth, looking at me with an apologetic expression: "Sorry, the child is ignorant. Please don't mind him." Her gaze swept over my scars, a faint, barely concealed trace of triumph flickering in her eyes: "You look like you're going through a hard time. If you need help, you can speak to us. Samuel can..." "No need." I cut her off, my tone icy. I didn't want to spend another second with that despicable couple and turned to leave. But Samuel suddenly grabbed my wrist: "You're Freya Louis, right? You're still alive! Where have you been all these years?" I yanked my hand free with force. "Mr. Stern, you've got the wrong person." After saying that, I didn't look back and hurried toward the kitchen.