A Symphony of Scars
The day before the piano competition finals, my boyfriend deliberately locked me on the rooftop to help his childhood friend win.
He stared at me intently, his voice low and steady. "You'll have plenty more chances. Can't you just let her have this one?"
Later, to secure her spot in the orchestra, he went so far as to break my fingers with his own hands.
I confronted him in anger, demanding to know why he would do this when we were supposed to be in a relationship.
He looked at me solemnly and said, "Susan, Miranda's mother saved me all those years ago, and now I have to fulfill this wish for her."
What he didn't understand was that for me, losing the use of my hands felt like losing my very life.
After I made the decision to stop loving him, he shattered his own hand, hoping to get my forgiveness.
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