Abby
The stage lights feel even more blinding now from the tears in my eyes. A
makeup artist darts around, dabbing my face with powder to cover the streaks
from crying. In more ways than one, I’m glad this hell is almost over; right now,
I’m just looking forward to getting this damn makeup off.
Finally, the director counts down from three, and it feels as though we’ve done
this a million times before. The crowd cheers, the music plays, the announcer
struts across the stage. And me? I’m standing here like a statue, my smile just
as fake as my manicured eyelashes.
Enter title…
Daniel stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and I can feel the hatred
emanating off of him. He stands tall and proud, the perfect picture of arrogance.
He doesn’t say a word to me, because he doesn’t need to. He already said
everything he needed to say earlier. He got his digs in, made his sharp words
stab me to my core. There’s no point now.
I can sense the satisfaction coursing through his veins as he stands beside me,
the realization that he won—not just in the competition, but in life—washing over
both of us. In just a few minutes, he’ll get exactly what he wants. Not only a
trophy, but to beat a woman down to nothing.
The announcer turns to Daniel first, his voice echoing across the studio. “Daniel,
you’ve shown immense skill throughout this competition. As we come to a close,
how are you feeling about your performance?”
Daniel’s lips twist into a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his
eyes.
a beat. “The true winner today will
personality…” he sneers subtly, casting a
“He will
and the gleam in
cheeks as the crowd
meeting mine. “Abby, you’ve become a favorite for
this competition. Tell us, what has this experience
the sea of faces that seem to blur together
signs with my name now thanks to
a hole in
she is—the little girl in the third row with her chef’s
and bright as ever, and she
in her tiny hand, a grin spread across
the lump in my throat, but I
I’m here, even if I
I’m here for her.
my voice surprisingly
female chef in
been here. To show that we—” I pause, my heart
“—that I can stand toe
breath, the air tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,”
That
sure our skills—and our voices—are not
also respected.”
crowd, a murmur of acknowledgment, of
the sound of
results.
announcer’s voice then cuts through
His eyes flick to the judges as he pulls a small
of his
lock
blink. Instead, his
to tilt for what feels like the millionth time
my champion, now looks on with a cool
for the briefest of moments before she leans toward
her head inclining toward me in
been a trick
I can’t look at Daniel, can’t
little girl in
her
The pause hangs for what feels
though drawing it out for dramatic effect. And
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