Twice burnt, Once Loved

SUSAN BROOKS' POV

Today was meant to be unforgettable.

I woke up early-too early. The sun had barely started to rise, casting soft golden streaks through my worn-out curtains. My limbs ached with exhaustion, but I pushed past it. I had something more important to focus on.

It was Jackson's birthday.

The man I loved. The man who made me believe in forever.

Despite juggling late-night shifts and my stepmother's endless chores, I stayed up to bake his favorite chocolate cake. I poured every ounce of affection into it, added strawberries and whipped cream the way he liked, and wrapped the small gifts I had been saving for months to buy. I gifted him a watch that he had once admired. His favorite cologne.

And a handwritten note that took me an hour to write because my fingers wouldn't stop shaking:

To the man who makes my heart feel safe. Happy birthday, love.

I smiled, hugging the card to my chest.

Then I picked up my phone and called him.

No response.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I frowned but stayed calm. Maybe he was still sleeping. Or maybe his phone died. I texted instead:

"Happy birthday, my dearest. Can I come see you today? I want to celebrate with you."

Ten minutes. No reply.

I stared at the screen until my chest felt tight. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

However, I refrained from hastily drawing conclusions. I refused to be the insecure girlfriend.

So I made a decision. I'd surprise him. After all, he loved surprises-especially mine. Right?

With the cake box in hand, I headed to his apartment. My heart fluttered with nervous anticipation. But when I knocked, there was no answer.

That's when I noticed the door was... unlocked.

My smile faded.

"Jackson?" I called softly, stepping inside.

Silence.

Then my eyes caught something on the floor. A woman's dress and a pair of boxers were scattered like an afterthought. It was a woman's dress. The woman was wearing a pair of boxers. Then-my breath caught-

There was a red lace bra on display.

Matching panties.

My fingers clenched around the cake box until the edges caved. My heart pounded fiercely.

And then I heard it.

Moaning.

Soft, rhythmic. From upstairs.

I stood frozen. My soul already knew. But my body moved-slow, heavy steps toward the truth.

Each creaking stair felt like a scream in my ears.

I pushed open the bedroom door.

There they were.

Jackson Cornwell. Naked. He was entwined with a person who should never have crossed that boundary.

Chloe.

My stepsister.

She arched her back, her voice a twisted melody. "Yes, baby... just like that..."

I stood at the door, paralyzed.

Then my voice burst out-raw, shaking, loud enough to crack the heavens.

"You are such a jerk!"

They froze.

Jackson's head snapped toward me, face drained of color. "Susan?! What the hell-you weren't supposed to be here!"

Chloe didn't even flinch. She turned to me with a slow, satisfied smirk.

"Oh, sweetheart." She rose-naked, unapologetic, radiant in her cruelty. "You really thought he loved you?"

She walked over to him and ran her fingers down his chest. "It was only a matter of time before he realized who the better woman was."

She kissed him. Deep. Deliberate.

I wanted to scream. Throw something. Tear the entire room down.

But I just stood there.

Shattered.

Jackson looked away, pulling the sheet around him awkwardly. "Susan... I liked you, okay? But you were always too innocent. Too emotional. You never wanted to take the next step. I needed more."

"More?" I whispered.

"I needed passion," he said, not even meeting my eyes. "Someone like Chloe."

My soul cracked in that moment.

I turned. Ran.

I sprinted down the staircase. I ran down the stairs and into the cold street. My vision blurred. My chest burned. My heart-God, my heart-felt like it had been ripped out and stomped on.

I walked for miles. No money for a ride-I'd spent everything on his gifts.

And when I got home...

A different nightmare waited for me.

"Where's that useless girl?!" Stella's shrill voice rang from the kitchen.

My stepmother.

I collapsed on the floor the moment I stepped in. My body gave up. I must've blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, the morning light stabbed at my skull, and a wave of nausea hit me. My head pounded. My clothes were soaked.

She had dumped a bucket of ice water on me.

"Get up, you worthless thing!"

"Good morning... Stepmother..." My voice cracked.

Slap.

The sting bit into my cheek.

"No food for you today," she snapped. "If breakfast isn't ready for me and my daughter by eight, you'll wish you were never born."

"Yes, ma'am," I whispered, still trembling.

She left, and I sat there in silence, drenched and humiliated.

I looked over at the photo of my mother on my nightstand. Her warm smile met my eyes, and I whispered through clenched teeth, "I'm trying, Mama. I'm trying so hard."

I stood. Cooked. Served. Cleaned.

I carried out my duties as usual.

But this time... something inside me had changed.

When I entered my father's room, I forced a smile. "Good morning, Daddy."

His voice was weak but kind. "Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

I leaned down and hugged him, hiding my swollen eyes.

"I wish I could give you the life you deserve," he murmured, his hand brushing my cheek. "But I love you, Susan. Always."

"I love you too, Daddy."

And I meant it.

I loved you more than anything else.

In that moment, I made a promise to myself.

I resolved to stop crying for those who have broken me.

I pledged to abandon loyalty in the face of betrayal.

I will no longer hide behind hope.

I would rise.

For me. For my father. This poem is a tribute to the girl I once was-before they attempted to destroy her.

Because one day soon... they'll all regret thinking I was weak.