Page 58 of Unholy Fate

Part of me wondered if this would truly heal Evelyn’s wounds or only open new ones. She clung to Aziz, pouring out her pain, as I ensured all traces of the night disappeared.

Evelyn had taken a step into the shadows with us. Now we would see if it led her to liberation or damnation. Either way, there was no turning back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EVELYN

I steppedout of the homeless shelter into the cool evening air. The soft hum of distant traffic and chatter of passersby provided a soothing backdrop to my swirling thoughts. The day’s work had been exhausting, my body aching from the constant strain of helping those who needed me. But my thoughts buzzed with unease, unable to shake the strange mixture of guilt, triumph, and growing anger lingering from recent events. As I began walking back to the convent, the scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted toward me. I decided to stop at a nearby cafe for a pick-me-up.

The coffee shop was quiet inside, with only the comforting clatter of mugs and faint hiss of the espresso machine filling the space. “One apple spice latte, please,” I said, the seasonal flavor lifting my spirits. I took my first tentative sip as I stepped back outside, savoring the warmth spreading through my chest. The little moment of bliss was short-lived.

Without warning, a sharp impact jarred my shoulder as someone slammed into me. My latte sloshed, the scalding liquid searing down my arm. I cried out at the sudden pain.

“Watch where you’re going, you stupid bitch,” the rude woman said at me. Her sharp features twisted into a glare of entitlement, as if the whole situation was my fault. The audacity!

My anger flared to life, hot and immediate. Without thinking, I whirled around and backhanded the woman hard across her face. The force of the blow sent her flying backward. Her body slammed into the side of a parked car with a sickening crunch, leaving a dent in the vehicle’s frame. She crumpled to the ground in a dazed heap.

I froze, staring at my hand in utter disbelief. How had I hit her that hard? For a fleeting moment, pure glee surged through me. I was powerful, invincible, in the moment when the anger that had been bubbling under the surface finally found its release.

But the exhilaration was quickly followed by a pang of shame.What have I done? This isn’t me. I’m not a violent person.Shaken, I moved toward the woman, my lips forming the beginnings of an apology. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sor?—”

Yet something stopped me, an icy clarity that cut through my guilt. Why should I apologize? She was the one who accosted me.

I leaned down. “Maybe next time, you’ll watch where you’re going.”

Without another word, I straightened up and turned away from the scene. I left the entitled woman groaning on the ground without a backward glance. As I walked briskly toward the convent, my emotions churned violently. Pride battled with guilt, empowerment with self-reproach.

“She deserved it,” I said as the memory of the woman’s sneer fueled my lingering anger. The shame faded, replaced by a heady sense of triumph.

I’m tired of apologizing. Tired of being everyone’s doormat. Being a good person doesn’t mean letting people walk all over you. I walked faster, head held high. For once, I had stood up for myself. It was...liberating.

Just as I was reveling in my newfound confidence, a cold chill crawled down my spine. The bravado I had moments ago dissolved into a wave of panic. I didn’t understand why, but I was suddenly filled with dread. Breaking into a run, I hurried desperately to reach the safety of my room.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I leaned against it, chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. My heart raced wildly. Pressing a trembling hand against my chest, I willed myself to calm down. Sinking to my knees, I clasped my hands and prayed, hoping the familiar ritual would bring me comfort and ground me in my faith.

But tonight, the prayers were hollow. I said the words of the Lord’s Prayer, but the deep spiritual connection I usually felt was absent. The harder I tried to pray, the more distant God seemed. Hot tears stung my eyes as frustration built inside me.

“Why can’t I feel You, Lord?” I cried out. “Why does it feel like I’m shouting into the void?”

After several long moments, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and took a shuddering breath. Folding my legs beneath me, I settled into a cross-legged position on the floor. Maybe meditation would help clear my mind and reconnect me with my faith.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the rhythm of my breathing. In and out, in and out. Slowly, the tightness in my chest eased as a wave of calm washed over me. But the peace was short-lived.

Flickers of light danced behind my closed eyelids. Disjointed images swirled in the darkness of my mind, strange yet oddly familiar sensations prickling my skin. Faded memories brushed the edges of my consciousness, just out of reach.

Without warning, a flood of vivid memories crashed over me, stealing my breath. I saw myself, but not as Evelyn. No, in this vision I was someone else entirely. Someone ancient and powerful.

I stood tall and proud in a lush garden, its vibrant beauty unlike anything I’d ever seen. Realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. The Garden of Eden. And I was Lilith.

The man before me, Adam, reached out his hand expectantly. He thought I would submit to him, be subservient and obedient. Defiance surged through my veins. Squaring my shoulders, I met his gaze head-on.

“I am your equal,” I said. “I will not bow to you.”

Adam’s eyes flashed with anger, but I refused to back down. I was created from the same earth as him. His partner, not his subordinate. I would never let myself be subjugated.

The memory shifted. My bare feet kicked up dust as I strode away from the lush paradise of Eden, rage and triumph surging through my veins. The verdant trees and fragrant flowers faded behind me, replaced by barren rocks and swirling sand. But I felt no regret, only exhilaration at my newfound freedom.

Again, it changed. I held my baby in my arms, born stillborn. Tears flowed with the knowledge that this had not been my first failed pregnancy, not by far.

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