High school wasn’t just tough—it was merciless. Every hallway felt like a stage where the rich kids performed their cruelty, and I was always their favorite punchline.
My name is Clara, and I was branded before I ever had a chance. My father worked nights as the school’s janitor, mopping the very floors those same kids strutted across in their designer sneakers. That was all they needed to decide who I was.
“Janitor’s Girl.”
“Broom Girl.”
“Trash Princess.”
I had spent months taking extra shifts, saving every dollar to buy my fiancé, Ben, the PlayStation 5 he had wanted more than anything. As a hairstylist…
The call came on a dull, gray afternoon. “My father passed,” I told the lawyer. My voice sounded calm, almost practiced. We had never been close, and…
When the first echo of thunder rolled across the rooftops that evening, no one in town sensed the danger that was moments away. The night had been…
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