Two words. Three vowels. Four consonants. Seven letters. It can either cut you open to the core and leave you in ungodly pain, or it can free your soul and lift a tremendous weight off your shoulders: It's over. But if you have the courage to say go...
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Sunlight tumbled through the windows into the café, glowing on the dark polished tables. Estella sat quietly at her table in the far corner all by herself. She used her coffee cup to keep herself warm as breakfast was served.
The morning was bright and clear, the wind holding its breath in a crisp pause. She took a deep breath and sat quietly at the table, taking a strong sip of coffee before biting into a simple blueberry muffin.
She cut a perfect shape from the mound of scrambled eggs on her plate and brought it to her mouth, chewing and swallowing absentmindedly, disconnected from the egg's moisture, plumpness, and lightness in her mouth. Sitting her fork and knife down, she washed down the egg with a sip of tea.
Legs crossed, she sat up straight, using a napkin to dab delicately at the corners of her mouth just as she'd been taught.
As she forced a routine smile on her face, silently she heard praise from her mother in the back of her mind who had forced her into such perfection.
Estella's near floor-length dress was made from black silk and lace, the sleeves, bodice, and hem flowing like water in the cool spring air. Her shoes were covered with a light layer of dainty black lace. A diamond necklace sparkled around her neck, a single jewel nestled between her breasts.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a French twist held off her face with an elegant pearl comb. Minimal makeup except her lips as full as ripe fruit coated in a brilliant red, accentuating her dark waves that framed her face. Many would say that she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.
Yet on the inside, she carried within her a burden so heavy that it emptied her into a shell of a ghost and filled it with pain.
She eyed the glass of wine next to her, torn about having it this early in the morning. But before she could contemplate, her hand was moving the glass to her mouth, as if on autopilot. She sipped a mouthful, and it was delicious. Before she knew it, the glass was empty.
An older woman, elegantly refined and well-dressed, entered the café leading a young girl by hand. The little girl was dressed in a soft, plush pink dress, her dark curls styled with a pink ribbon. Estella estimated the little girl, who she assumed to be her daughter, to be no more than eight years old.
She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Estella sitting alone. Was it really her?
Crouching down, she whispered something in her daughter's ear. The little girl nodded and walked over to Estella and her mother followed, a smile on her face and thrill gleaming in her eyes.
The mother clutched her purse and cleared her throat. "Are you by any chance Estella Sorino?"
Slow, lifeless, Estella finished chewing, dragging her eyes up. "Yes."
"See! I told you." A bright smile spread across her daughter's face as the corners of her mother's mouth curved joyfully upward, her cheeks lightly flushed.
"My daughter is a big fan of yours," her face lit up even brighter at this and she passed the notebook to Estella without hesitation. "I'm sorry to ask this, but can we please get your autograph?"
Such had become second nature to her as breathing. Estella obediently sat back in her chair, politely pushing the plate to the side and lifting the notebook towards her carefully. "What's your name?" she asked the little girl.
"Grace," she replied with pride.
A beautiful gold brooch, the one Estella wore since she was a little girl, was pinned to her sleeve. Its diamond centre glowing, ruby petals framing it, perfectly complementing the gold rings on her fingers. As she signed her autograph, the tiny gems sparkled, little red dots of light in a sea of yellow, blue, and green.
"She's really beautiful in real life isn't she?" The mother smiled and her little girl nodded in agreement. "Yes! She's like a princess from a fairy tale."
Estella stopped suddenly, the end of her pen hovering over the paper. She looked down at the ugly mark she hadn't meant to draw.
She forced another smile to her face and finished her name. "Why do you think so?"
"Because you're pretty," she beamed brightly. "My mom always calls me 'princess' because I'm pretty." Her mother placed her arm on her back proudly.
Estella stared at both of them blankly as if she had forgotten where she was, before letting out a laugh to lift the tension as she handed the notebook back to her mother with her fifth forced smile of the day.
"My goodness," Christian entered the cafe to her rescue. "What's with this chain?" he chuckled, stepping over the gold chain roping off Estella's secluded area. "You ready to get going?"
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