[Author's pov]
Rosalie’s head throbbed, the pain from the blow still fresh as she lay on the sterile hospital bed. The IV drip hanging by her side seemed a cruel reminder of how far she’d fallen. Her arm ached where the bruise from the iron rod had left its mark, a constant reminder of the woman who had given her life, but also the woman who was capable of taking it away.
Her mother’s face flashed before her eyes—the twisted mix of anger and something else, something that might have been regret. In the same breath that her mother had wielded the rod, her eyes had welled up with tears. “I’m doing this for your own good, Rosalie,” she had said through clenched teeth, as if her violence was justified, as if she was doing it out of love.
But it wasn’t love. It was control. It was power. It was fear.
Her mother had always controlled everything—her choices, her movements, even her love. When Rosalie had tried to speak up, to push back, the punishment followed. The iron rod had come down hard, leaving marks that would fade but never truly vanish.
Lying in the hospital bed now, Rosalie found herself caught in a storm of conflicting thoughts. Her mother had hurt her—physically, emotionally—but the tenderness that came after, the brief moments of care, made it all more confusing. Why did she love someone who could hurt her this way? Why couldn’t she hate her mother?
The answer was simpler than she wanted to admit. She didn’t know how. Love—at least, the kind she’d been taught to expect—wasn’t clear. It was messy. It was painful. And it was always on her mother’s terms.
[Rosalie's pov]
I lay still in sterile hospital bed, the only sound in the room is of the ventilator in the quiet room. My head is aching, and the pain in my body was a constant remainder of the how my mother controls me by beating me. My gaze is fixed on the wall and I just started thinking about when I heard the footsteps coming towards the room I am in. The door knob turned and the door opened and there she was, my mother, who just loves me but also hurts me the most.
I don't know how to hate her but I also don't know how to love her.
"I didn't mean to, Rosalie", my mother said, her voice was cracking, and I could feel the tears in her words. I couldn't bring myself to look at her, I constantly looked down, my gaze went towards the drip needle which is in my skin of back of my hand, it hurts but what hurts more is that my own mother is treating me like this then saying she didn't meant to do this.
"I am so sorry", she whispered, "I didn't want to hurt you. It's just .. you won't understand. I do this because I love you", she said.
But I still couldn't understand how can a mother who brings a life to the world can also take that life. I could barely breathe and she is crying continuously. I have heard all these before - promises of love, excuses wrapped in guilt, but they never made the pain go away.
[Author's pov]
Her mother's trembling hand reached out, brushing Rosalie's hair away from her face, but Rosalie couldn't move. She wanted to feel comfort, To believe her mother's words, but the bruises, the pain, the overwhelming control, none of it would let her.
"I am sorry, Rosalie", her mother said again, her voice pleading. But Rosalie couldn't speak. She couldn't say the words her mother wanted to hear. All she could do was lie still, her heart racing in her chest, as her mother wept beside her.
[Rosalie’s POV]
It was already dusky by the time we got home after I was discharged from the hospital. I was heading to my room when my mother stopped me.
“Sit with me for a while, Rosalie,” she said, her voice calm—as if nothing had happened.
Even after everything she’s done… she’s still so calm?
“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep,” I replied, and walked away, ignoring her words.
It was the first time I had ever done that—ignored her like this. She’s hurt me before, countless times. But this time… this time, something inside me felt different. Like I couldn’t take it anymore.
Maybe because everything had just started piling up—layer after layer—and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
[Author’s POV]
Rosalie locked the door behind her and slid down to the floor, resting her back against it. She stared blankly across the room, her eyes red and heavy, balancing on the edge of a breakdown.
She tried to hold it in. She really did.
But her tears betrayed her.
They slipped silently down her cheeks, trailing to her chin and dripping onto her top, leaving faint wet marks. And that was it—she broke.
She began to cry, quietly and uncontrollably, her shoulders trembling with the weight of her pain. She made no sound. She couldn’t. If her mother heard her, she would come in… call her name… pretend to care. And Rosalie didn’t want to see her. She couldn’t bear to.
Then the memories came—childhood moments she had buried deep inside—and her silent cries grew more desperate.
Back when she was nine, the sun filtered through the sheer curtains of her small bedroom, casting soft golden light on the worn-out floorboards. Nine-year-old Rosalie sat cross-legged on her bed, a crayon in hand and a drawing pad in her lap. She had drawn a field—open, endless, filled with daisies and butterflies. At the corner, she had sketched a girl running barefoot, arms stretched out wide, her hair flying behind her like wings.
She smiled at it. "This is me," she whispered to herself.
Just then, the door burst open.
Her mother stood there, face tight with suspicion. “What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping into the room like a storm.
Rosalie clutched the drawing to her chest. “Nothing. I was just… drawing.”
Her mother snatched the paper from her hands. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at it. “What is this? Running away? Dreaming of freedom again? Haven’t I told you not to waste your time with such nonsense?”
“It’s just a drawing,” Rosalie said, her voice trembling.
Her mother’s hand came down fast, a harsh slap against Rosalie’s cheek. “There’s no ‘just’ in this house. You live under my roof, you do as I say.”
Tears welled up in Rosalie’s eyes, but she didn’t cry. She never did. Not anymore.
Her mother tore the drawing in half and tossed the pieces into the trash bin beside the bed.
“You’ll learn one day,” she said coldly. “Dreams are for fools. And you, Rosalie, don’t have the luxury to be a fool.”
Then she walked out, leaving the door open behind her like a wound.
Rosalie sat still, her cheek burning, staring at the shredded pieces of her dream. In her heart, something small curled tighter. A quiet voice whispered, "One day, I’ll run. I’ll really run."
And there she falls asleep curled up on the floor, lashes wet because of tears, nose and cheeks red because of crying.
[Rosalie’s POV]
Moonlight spilled through the window when I woke up. I glanced at the clock—2:00 AM.
I got up, heart pounding, already knowing what I was about to do. If my mom found out, she'd kill me for sure this time.
I was going to sneak out through the window.
I needed air. I needed space. My thoughts were choking me.
Slipping on my black hoodie, I quietly opened the window. My room was on the first floor—not too high—but still enough to make me hesitate. I stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to summon the courage.
Then I climbed out… and as luck would have it, I fell.
Hard.
I stayed on the ground for a few seconds, frozen, praying she hadn’t heard the thud. When nothing happened, I slowly stood up, brushing off the dirt. Step by cautious step, I walked away—out into the night.
[Author’s POV]
It was the kind of hour when only the reckless or the broken wandered the streets. And there she was—Rosalie—walking like a ghost, her mind tangled in a storm of thoughts.
She had hoped this would clear her head.
It didn’t.
Instead, fear gnawed at her—an unspoken dread of being cornered, attacked, or worse. Still, she kept walking, lost in the fog of her emotions.
The wind danced wildly, whipping her hair into her face, blinding her. She kept tucking the strands behind her ear, but even her hair seemed unwilling to obey her tonight.
[Rosalie’s POV]
I didn’t know where I was going—I just kept walking, lost in my thoughts.
Then I heard footsteps. Fast ones. Heading in my direction.
I turned toward the sound, and before I could react, a man sprinted past me, bumping into my shoulder so hard I almost hit the ground. I staggered but caught myself.
I was ready to yell at him, maybe even give him a piece of my mind—but he was already gone, like his life depended on it.
And then... more footsteps.
They were heavier, more purposeful—and they stopped right in front of me.
About five or six men appeared, dressed entirely in black. Hoodies, masks, caps—everything about them screamed secrecy. No faces. No names. Just shadows.
They paused, looking around as if trying to figure out which way the runner had gone. One of them stepped forward. He felt like the leader.
Then he looked at me.
“Did you see a man run past here?” he asked.
The moment I heard his voice, something strange happened. At first, I thought it was fear. But when I looked into his eyes—those sharp brown-hazel eyes staring at me like a loaded gun—I realized it wasn’t just fear. His gaze was deadly, threatening even. It said, ‘If you don’t answer, I’ll make you regret it.’
I should’ve been scared.
But I wasn’t.
I didn’t know why, but something about those eyes—about that deep, rough, commanding voice—sent a shiver through me. Not of fear, but… something else. Something I couldn’t name.
“Hey! Did you?” he barked again, pulling me from my trance.
I blinked. “Th-there...” I stammered, pointing toward the direction the man had gone.
Without another word, they vanished—gone just as quickly as they had appeared.
And I was left standing there, stunned.
Why did I stutter? I asked myself. But there was no answer.
I decided to head back home—it was nearly 3:00 AM. I needed to get some sleep. If Mom woke up and found out I wasn’t home, she’d lose it. Literally kill me.
Back in my room, I lay in bed, eyes wide open.
Sleep never came.
My mind wouldn’t stop replaying that moment—his voice, his eyes, and that strange, unexplainable feeling that made my heart race and my stomach twist.
Dangerous... yet safe.
What was that?
Author's Note:-
Thanks for showing your love to my story I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Stay tuned for more!!
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