Sarah stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. Her reflection stared back at her—eyes tired, face numb, but beneath it all, a storm raged quietly.
"Not anymore," she said out loud, her voice steady but heavy. "I've been nice. Treated everyone fair. Smiled even when I was dying inside. And what did I get? Mockery… betrayal."
Her lips trembled, but she didn't blink away the tears. Instead, she opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. Without second-guessing, she grabbed a chunk of her long, silky hair and began cutting. Each snip was like letting go of the old Sarah. By the time she was done, her hair was in a neat, sharp bob, the softness gone. Her face still held its beauty, but something about her had changed. That sweet glow she once carried was gone. Now, her eyes were colder. Hardened.
