She turned another page.
Grade Four.
The paper in her hands felt thinner somehow—fragile, like the memory itself might tear if she held it too tightly.
Except it wasn't whole.
The edges were jagged, as if someone had ripped it apart in anger. Ink bled across the page in violent strokes of red—thick, aggressive, merciless.
A man loomed beside the desk, close to her younger self. Far too close.
His shadow swallowed the small figure seated in the chair, his finger stabbing down toward the page as if he were pinning her in place.
Her classmate had taken that photo and circulated it in the school's forum to shame her.
For many envied her because of her beauty.
Lara looking at the photo recalled the incident.
...
"Well?" His teacher's voice cut through the classroom, sharp and accusing. "Are you going to deny it?"
Ten-year-old Lara didn't look up.
Her hands were clenched on her lap, knuckles pale, shoulders stiff. Frozen.
