2: PRETTY THING BREAK FIRST

Chapter 2: Pretty Things Break First

I learned not to draw attention to myself.

But attention had a way of finding me anyway.

My cousin insisted I go with her to the market that afternoon. She said it like a favor, like she was being generous by allowing me outside the house. I knew better. When she smiled like that, something ugly usually followed.

“Walk behind me,” she said as soon as we stepped onto the street. “And don’t talk unless I tell you to.”

“Yes,” I replied.

The sun was bright, unforgiving. The market buzzed with voices and movement, people brushing past one another with baskets and bags. I kept my head down, counting steps, focusing on not bumping into anyone.

But I could feel eyes.

I always could.

“Ugh,” she muttered suddenly, stopping short. “Can you stand farther away?”

I stepped back instinctively, nearly colliding with a vendor’s cart. He glanced at me, then looked away too quickly, like I’d embarrassed him just by existing.

She turned slowly, her gaze sharp. “Do you enjoy making people stare?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Her voice rose just enough for nearby ears to catch. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

A few people looked over. Curiosity. Judgment. Interest.

Heat crawled up my neck.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She laughed. Loud. Clear. “Sorry for what? For wearing rags and still thinking you deserve to be seen?”

Her words landed like stones.

“I swear,” she continued, shaking her head dramatically, “you’re disgusting. You steal food, you steal space, and now you’re stealing attention.”

I wanted to disappear. I focused on the ground, on the dust clinging to my sandals, on anything but the way people were staring.

A woman nearby whispered something to her friend. A man looked at me a second too long before my cousin noticed and stepped directly in front of me, blocking his view like I was something obscene.

“Eyes up here,” she snapped at him. Then she turned back to me, smiling sweetly. “See? This is why you’re a problem.”

She grabbed my wrist—not hard enough to leave marks, but firm enough to hurt—and dragged me toward a clothing stall.

“You want pretty things so badly?” she said loudly. “Let’s see if they suit you.”

She picked up a dress. Soft fabric. Pale color. Something I would never be allowed to touch.

She held it up against me.

For half a second, the vendor’s eyes widened.

I felt it—the shift. The comparison. The realization.

My cousin saw it too.

Her fingers tightened around my wrist.

“Look at that,” she said with a laugh that was just a little too sharp. “Even trash looks decent if you wrap it right.”

The vendor chuckled awkwardly. “She… she has a nice face,” he said, unsure.

That was a mistake.

My cousin dropped the dress like it burned her. “Nice face?” she repeated. “Are you blind?”

She shoved me forward suddenly. I stumbled, knocking into the display. A hanger clattered to the ground.

“Clumsy,” she said loudly. “Always breaking things. That’s what happens when you pick something up from the gutter.”

My cheeks burned. My hands shook as I bent to pick it up.

“Don’t touch it,” she snapped. “You’ll ruin it.”

People were watching openly now. Some with pity. Some with interest. Some with amusement.

I wished they would hate me. Pity felt worse.

“Apologize,” she demanded.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely there.

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my throat tight.

She leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear. “You should thank me,” she whispered. “If you weren’t miserable, no one would notice how ordinary I am.”

That was the truth of it. I had always known.

She hated me because I existed.

Because no matter how small I made myself, no matter how much I shrank, there was something she couldn’t take from me. Something she saw reflected in other people’s eyes.

And she wanted to break it.

On the walk home, she let go of my wrist, satisfied. I walked a step behind her, silent, my heart aching in a way that felt familiar.

Pretty things break first.

That was the rule.

And in a house—and a world—like this, being pretty was never a blessing.

It was a warning.