Chapter 2: Sarai’s Escape

Across the city, Sarai Carter’s morning began with the shrill ring of her phone. The sound pierced the quiet stillness of her room, jarring her awake from a restless sleep. She blinked up at the ceiling, the pale light filtering through her curtains casting faint geometric patterns on the walls. For a moment, she lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind clouded by fatigue and the weight of everything she had endured.

The phone rang again, sharper this time, breaking through her haze. With a heavy sigh, she reached for it, her hand fumbling on the cluttered nightstand. Her fingers brushed past an empty glass, a crumpled receipt, and finally closed around the device. “Hello?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Even before she heard the slurred words on the other end, her chest tightened with dread. She knew who it was. Bruce. His voice, dripping with contempt and the familiar edge of inebriation, sent a wave of cold nausea through her. Her grip on the phone faltered slightly, and she felt the familiar mix of anger and resignation wash over her. It was always the same. The insults, the blame, the never-ending cycle of venom that left her questioning her worth.

As his torrent of accusations began, Sarai held the phone away from her ear. The muffled sound of his tirade buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, filling the room with its oppressive presence. Her sapphire-blue eyes stared blankly at the wall, her breath shallow, her chest tightening. A faint tremble ran through her fingers, but this time, she didn’t let herself cry. She wasn’t even sure she had any tears left to shed for him. Her thoughts churned. Why did she still let him do this to her? Why had she allowed herself to endure it for so long?

Her gaze flicked to the scissors on her desk, a fleeting thought of escape crossing her mind. Not from life, but from this endless loop of toxicity and despair. The thought lingered for a moment, sharp and dangerous, before she shook her head sharply, pushing it aside. She was stronger than this. She had to be.

“Go to hell, Bruce,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. The words felt foreign but powerful, like the first step out of a cage she had been locked in for far too long. Before he could respond, she ended the call with a finality that left the room in silence, save for the ticking of the clock on her bedside table. The quiet felt oppressive, yet strangely liberating.

Sarai sat up slowly, her breath hitching as she processed what she had done. Tears stung her eyes, but not from sadness. This was something else. Relief? Determination? She wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing: she wouldn’t let Bruce’s poison define her anymore.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The chill sent a shiver up her spine, but it also grounded her. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the faint scent of lavender from the diffuser on her desk, a small reminder of the serenity she had been striving to reclaim.

For the first time in months, she felt a small spark of hope. It was fragile, flickering like a candle in the wind, but it was there. Sarai stood, her movements slow but deliberate, and crossed the room to the window. She pushed the curtains aside, letting the soft morning light flood in. The city stretched out before her, alive with possibility, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could start over.