The Unknown Number

Cora sat on the floor of her tiny bedroom, her back pressed against the door. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them so tightly that her fingers had gone numb. But she did not care. She did not care about anything anymore.

The apartment was silent except for the sound of her breathing. Ragged. Uneven. Broken.

Her face still throbbed where Liam had hit her. Where Vanessa had slapped her. She had looked at herself in the cracked mirror above her dresser when she first got home, and the sight had made her stomach turn. Her left cheek was swollen and red, the skin tender to the touch. There was a small cut on her lower lip where her teeth had caught it. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying.

She looked like a stranger. Like someone she did not recognize.

The divorce papers sat on the floor beside her, crumpled and stained with her tears. She had signed them. She had actually signed them. Three years of marriage, three years of sacrifice and love and devotion, reduced to a few scribbled signatures on legal documents.

It was over. Everything was over.

Her phone buzzed again on the floor next to her. And again. And again. The screen lit up with each new notification, casting a pale blue glow across her tear-stained face.

Cora did not look at it. She could not. She knew what was on that screen. She had made the mistake of checking once, just once, about an hour ago, and what she saw had made her want to throw the phone against the wall.

The video was everywhere. That girl—the one who had filmed her on the street—had posted it on every social media platform imaginable. And it had gone viral. Millions of views. Thousands of comments. Hundreds of shares.

Everyone was talking about her. Everyone had an opinion.

Some people felt sorry for her. They called Liam a monster, a cheater, an abuser. They said she deserved better. They said she was brave for walking away.

But others were cruel. They called her pathetic. They said she was lying, that she probably deserved what happened, that she was just trying to get attention or money. They laughed at her tears. They mocked her pain.

And the worst part? Some of them blamed her. They said if she had been a better wife, if she had been prettier or smarter or more sophisticated, maybe Liam would not have cheated. Maybe he would not have left her for someone like Vanessa Lux.

Cora pressed her forehead against her knees and tried to breathe. In and out. In and out. But the air felt too thick, too heavy. Like she was drowning on dry land.

Her phone buzzed again. Then again. The notifications kept coming in an endless stream, each one a reminder that her private pain had become public entertainment.

She reached out slowly and picked up the phone. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it. The screen was filled with notifications. T*****r. I*******m. F******k. Text messages from numbers she did not recognize. Emails from reporters asking for interviews. Voice messages from old acquaintances who had never cared about her before but suddenly wanted to "check in" and "see how she was doing."

Cora wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the phone across the room and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. She wanted to make it all stop.

But she did not. Instead, she just stared at the screen, watching the notifications pile up one after another. Each buzz felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest.

She thought about turning the phone off. Just powering it down completely and pretending the outside world did not exist. But something stopped her. Some small, stubborn part of her that refused to hide. That refused to let them win.

"They do not get to do this to me," she whispered into the empty room. Her voice was hoarse and cracked, barely audible. "They do not get to destroy me."

But even as she said the words, she did not believe them. Because the truth was, they already had destroyed her. Liam had destroyed her. Vanessa had destroyed her. And now the entire world was watching her fall apart.

Cora set the phone down on the floor again and buried her face in her hands. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and bitter. She cried until her throat was raw, until her chest ached, until there were no tears left.

The room grew darker as the sun set outside her small window. Shadows crept across the walls, swallowing the light. Cora did not move. She just sat there on the cold floor, alone in the darkness, listening to the relentless buzzing of her phone.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Notification after notification. Comment after comment. The world would not leave her alone. It would not let her grieve in peace.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember a time when she was happy. When life was simple and good. When she believed that love was real and people kept their promises.

But those memories felt like they belonged to someone else. Some other girl who was naive enough to believe in fairy tales.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Cora opened her eyes and glared at the phone. "Stop," she whispered. "Please just stop."

But it did not stop. Of course it did not stop. The world did not care about her pain. The world just wanted more. More drama. More scandal. More entertainment.

She picked up the phone again, intending to finally turn it off. But as her finger hovered over the power button, the screen suddenly changed.

The buzzing stopped. The notifications disappeared.

Her phone was ringing.

Cora stared at the screen. An incoming call. But the caller ID showed no name. Just a phone number. A number she did not recognize.

She hesitated. Who would be calling her from an unknown number? A reporter? Another stranger wanting to ask invasive questions or offer fake sympathy?

The phone kept ringing. The sound filled the small room, loud and insistent.

Cora's finger moved to the decline button. She did not want to talk to anyone. She did not have the strength.

But just before she could press it, something made her stop. Some instinct. Some small voice in the back of her mind that whispered, "What if?"

What if it was important? What if it was someone who could actually help?

The ringing continued. Cora's heart pounded in her chest. Her finger hovered over the screen, torn between answering and ignoring.

Finally, she let it ring. She watched the screen as the call went on and on, and then finally, after what felt like forever, it stopped.

Silence filled the room again.

Cora exhaled slowly, feeling something like relief wash over her. She set the phone down on the floor and leaned her head back against the door.

But then the phone buzzed one more time.

Not a notification. Not another call.

A text message.

From the same unknown number.

Cora's breath caught in her throat. She stared at the phone, at the small notification banner that appeared on the screen.

Her hands were shaking again as she picked up the phone. She unlocked it slowly, her heart racing.

The message was short. Simple. But it made her blood run cold.

"I can help you."