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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