MY FATE IS IN MY HANDS

Phoebe’s grief

PHOEBE

Slowly, I pushed myself upright.

Every movement sent pain through my body, but I welcomed it. The pain reminded me that I was still alive and capable of standing on my own feet.

I did not cry anymore.

The tears had dried somewhere deep inside me, leaving behind a hollow calm.

I reached for my scarf, wrapped it around my head, and slipped my feet into my worn slippers. I looked once around the room, the bare wall where my books had been, the flickering bulb, the mattress that had never truly been mine.

There was nothing to pack.

I opened the door quietly and stepped into the hallway. The lights were on, but no one looked my way. Patricia’s voice drifted from the sitting room, irritated and dismissive. Irish laughed softly at something. Harry’s voice followed, low and agreeable.

I did not slow down or hesitated

I walked through the house like a shadow, pushed open the front door, and stepped into the night.

The air outside was cool against my aching skin. The gate stood slightly ajar, as if even the house expected me to leave. I passed through it and continued down the road.

I did not look back.

Each step away from that house felt unreal, as though I were walking outside my own body. Streetlights cast long shadows that stretched and broke beneath my feet. My thoughts were quiet now, emptied by exhaustion.

I walked until the houses thinned, until the paved road narrowed into a dirt path leading toward the small mountain at the edge of town.

I had come here before.

Whenever the beatings were too much, whenever the words cut deeper than bruises, I would come here. The mountain wasn’t tall, but it rose high enough to block out the noise of the town below. At its base was a narrow trail, barely visible unless you knew where to look.

I followed it.

The path felt familiar beneath my feet uneven but comforting. Crickets chirped softly in the grass. The night sky stretched wide above me, stars scattered carelessly across it. I climbed slowly, my breath steady despite the ache in my ribs.

At the top, hidden by trees and rocks, lay the pond.

It was small and round, its surface smooth and dark, reflecting the moonlight like glass. The air here was cool and quiet as if the world paused at the edge of the water.

I stopped at the bank and stared at my reflection.

My face looked older in the moonlight and my cheek was swollen. Shadows circled my eyes. I barely recognized myself.

I stepped closer and slipped off my slippers, setting them aside. Then I waded into the pond.

The water was cold.

It wrapped around my ankles, then my calves, sending a sharp shiver through me. I moved deeper until it reached my waist, soaking the hem of my skirt. Finally, I sank down until I was fully submerged, the water pressing gently against my bruises.

I let out a shaky breath.

And then I cried.

I cried the way I never could at home. My shoulders shook as sobs tore out of my chest, loud, broken, uncontrollable. The sound echoed faintly across the water and was swallowed by the night.

I cried for the books burned into ash.

I cried for the roadside for the dust, the insults, the laughter... everything

I cried for the sister and parents who looked through me as if I didn’t exist.

I cried for the boy who once said he admired my strength and then drove past me without stopping.

I cried for the girl I had been in school hopeful and certain that hard work would be enough.

The water rippled outward with each sob, distorting the moon’s reflection. I pressed my hands into the muddy bottom of the pond, grounding myself as wave after wave of grief poured out of me.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered into the night.

The words trembled, fragile but true.

“I tried.”

My voice broke again.

I stayed there, half-submerged, until my tears slowed and my breathing steadied. The pond was silent except for the soft movement of water against my body.

I lifted my face toward the sky.

“Why is it never enough?” I asked, though I didn’t know who I was asking.

The night offered no answer. Only the distant stars watched, cold and indifferent.

I leaned back slightly, letting the water support me. It felt strange and comforting, as if the pond were holding me when no one else ever had. The coolness numbed some of the pain in my body, soothing the worst of the ache.

Minutes passed or maybe hours. I lost track of time.

I thought about the road ahead. About where I would go when morning came. About whether I even had the strength to keep moving. The uncertainty frightened me but the thought of going back frightened me more.

“I can’t go back,” I said softly.

The words settled into the air, solid and final.

I closed my eyes and let the quiet wrap around me. The pond reflected the moon faithfully, never judging and never demanding explanations. For the first time in a long while, I felt unseen in a way that felt safe.

My sobs faded into quiet sniffles. Exhaustion crept into my limbs, heavy and insistent. I hugged myself beneath the water, rocking slightly.

The night deepened.

A breeze stirred the trees, sending ripples across the pond’s surface. Moonlight shimmered as the water shifted, and I felt the faint movement against my skin.

I opened my eyes.

The pond seemed brighter.

I blinked, thinking my tears had blurred my vision but the light remained. A soft glow beneath the surface. It was subtle at first, then stronger.

I frowned.

The water around me shimmered faintly, like light trapped in glass. Tiny ripples spread outward from the surface of the pond, even though I hadn’t moved.

My heart began to pound.

“What…?” I whispered.

The glow deepened, casting pale reflections onto my hands. The water felt warmer now, almost humming like something beneath it was stirring.

I stood abruptly, water sloshing around me.

The surface trembled.

A low, almost inaudible sound rose from beneath the water not quite a voice, not quite a song. It vibrated through my chest, through my bones.

Fear prickled along my skin.

I took a step back, but the ground beneath my feet seemed to soften, pulling gently at my legs. The glow intensified, spreading across the pond in widening circles.

“Stop,” I whispered, though I didn’t know who I was speaking to.

The water surged suddenly, rising around my knees, my waist, my chest. I gasped as the light flared brighter dazzling, otherworldly.

My last clear thought wasn’t fear.

It was release.

As the pond rose to meet me, as the night closed in around me, I let go.

And then I felt a sharp pain exploded in my head and everything went blank