The Road that Led Here.

~ Ivy ~

The asphalt was freezing against my cheek. I could feel the sharp little rocks of the road digging into my skin, but I could not move my head to pull away. My body felt like a bag of heavy stones. Every breath I took felt small and shallow, barely reaching my chest.

A few feet away, the white sheets of my divorce papers made a soft, scratching sound as the wind dragged them across the dirt. You came with nothing, so you leave with nothing, the guard had said. Julian’s final words through the intercom still buzzed inside my ears, louder than the wind. I do not care if you have to sleep on the street.

I closed my eyes. The cold road seemed to fade away, and my mind drifted backward, slipping into old memories that felt just as dark and cold as the night.

I was eight years old, standing in the bright hallway of my childhood home. The floor was covered in a thick, soft rug that never hurt my feet. Through the open door of the master bedroom, I watched my mother, Victoria, zip up a beautiful pink dress on my little sister, Lily. The fabric had shiny little pearls around the collar. Lily laughed and twirled, her blond curls bouncing.

"Mommy," I said, stepping into the room and tugging at my oversized gray t-shirt. "What about me? Is there a pretty dress for me to wear to the party?"

Victoria stopped fixing Lily’s hair. She turned her head and looked down at me, her eyes scanning my wide waist and thick legs with a small frown.

"You will look fat in a dress like that, Ivy," she said, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. "It will only highlight your size. Just go wear your old blue trousers and stay in the kitchen until it is time to leave."

Lily grinned at herself in the mirror. I walked back to my bedroom, my heart heavy. That was the day I learned my body was a problem. I learned that I was wrong.

The memory shifted, turning louder and meaner. I was twelve years old, sitting on a wooden bench during school recess. A circle of boys and girls from my class walked up to me, blocking the sun.

"Oink, oink," a boy named Peter said, puffing out his cheeks. "Look at the size of the bench today. There is no room for anyone else."

"Bark, bark!" a girl laughed, throwing a piece of old apple at my shoes. "The Monroe family must have a big food bill."

I looked around the playground, my eyes searching for help. Mrs. Gable, the playground teacher, walked right past our circle. She looked at the kids shouting at me, then looked away, pretending she had to fix her clipboard. She did not say a single word to stop them. I dug my fingernails into my palms and kept my head down until the bell rang. Nobody was ever going to help me. I was completely on my own.

Then came my sixteenth year. I remember the bright yellow porch light of my house on prom night. A boy named Derek, who had sat next to me in biology class for three weeks, had asked me to be his date. He had smiled at me. He had bought me a single white rose. For three weeks, I thought the mirror was lying to me. I thought somebody actually wanted me.

I stood on the porch in a wide navy dress that my mother had ordered from a catalog for older women. Derek walked up the steps, but he didn't have a car keys in his hand. He had his phone out, pointing the camera right at my face.

From the bushes near the driveway, a loud giggle broke the silence. Three of his football friends stepped into the light, holding their own phones up.

"Did you really think I would date a whale like you, Ivy?" Derek laughed, tossing the white rose into the dirt at my feet. "It was a bet. We wanted to see if you would actually buy a dress."

They ran down the street, laughing and shouting. I stood on the porch, looking at the crushed flower in the dirt. Love was not a good thing. It was just a sharp stick people used to hurt you when you let your guard down.

The scene changed to my father’s office. I was twenty years old, holding a large canvas. I had spent three months painting a view of the river near our house. The colors were bright and real. I felt proud of it.

Arthur Monroe sat behind his big oak desk, counting a stack of business papers. Lily stood next to him, wearing a designer jacket.

"Father, look," I said, holding the canvas up so he could see. "My art teacher said I have real talent. She wants to put my painting in the local gallery."

Arthur did not look at the canvas. He didn't even lift his eyes from his paperwork. "Lily is going to be the face of our new marketing campaign next month, Ivy. She has real potential to bring in new investors."

"But what about my art?" I whispered.

My mother walked into the room, glancing at my messy jeans. "Take that dusty thing to the basement, Ivy. Lily has a dinner with the mayor tonight. You just need to hide yourself more so the guests do not start asking questions about why you look so different from your sister."

I carried the canvas downstairs and hid it behind the old water heater. I learned that my talents did not matter. I was just an embarrassment to be kept in the dark.

The memories grew sharper, turning into the day my life completely ended. I was twenty-seven. The family business was failing, and my father’s face was white with panic. Lily had packed her bags and run away during the night to avoid marrying Julian Vance, the cold billionaire CEO.

Arthur and Victoria sat me down at the long dining table. They looked at me like I was a piece of old furniture they needed to sell to pay the bills.

"You will marry Julian Vance on Saturday," Arthur said, his voice hard like steel. "It is your duty to this family. You owe us this much for feeding you all these years."

"But he doesn't want me," I pleaded, my voice cracking as I looked at my mother. "He wants Lily. He has seen me before, and he looked at me like I was dirt. He will hate me."

Victoria reached across the table and slapped her palm against the wood. "It does not matter what he wants, Ivy! It matters what we need to keep this family from bankruptcy. You will put on the wedding dress, you will stand at the altar, and you will say yes."

The wedding day was a blur of gray light. I walked down the long church aisle alone because my father was too busy talking to reporters at the entrance. The guests in the pews whispered and laughed behind their hands as my wide frame passed them.

Julian stood at the altar in a perfect black suit. His eyes were cold like ice cubes. When I finally reached him, he did not take my hand. He leaned close to my ear while the priest was reading from the book.

"Do not expect a happy marriage," Julian whispered, his voice full of deep contempt. "You are just a placeholder until I get what I want."

When the priest told him to kiss the bride, Julian merely pressed his cheek against mine for half a second. The crowd cheered, but I felt like I was sinking into deep, dark water.

A whole year of that marriage flashed through my mind like a bad movie. Separate bedrooms. Sitting alone at the giant dining table while the food went cold. Julian coming home late, smelling of Chloe's sweet flower perfume. The maids laughing in the hallway, calling me a tent and a ghost. I had learned to say sorry every time I walked into a room. I had learned to apologize just for being alive.

The memories snapped shut.

The cold asphalt was back against my face. The wind blew a hard gust, and I heard the rustle of the signed divorce papers moving further down the road. My fingers twitched, but I could not close them into a fist. My stomach felt empty and broken, the memory of the red blood on the white ballroom floor making me feel sick all over again.

Maybe... everyone was right about me... my mind whispered into the silence. I am too fat. I am too clumsy. I am too ugly to be loved.

My hand fell completely limp against the cold road. The darkness inside my head grew bigger, pulling me under like a heavy wave. I closed my eyes tightly, ready to let go completely. I didn't want to wake up anymore.

But then, through the dark, two bright circles of yellow light cut through the trees in the distance. The sound of a heavy car engine rumbled against the quiet night, getting closer and closer.