The Invisible String: Matt Murdock/ Daredevil

3

Aged 21

Annalise sat on the edge of her bed, the death certificate in her hands. The woman who had dragged her out of her life that day, whose name she later learned was Beth, had died. She wished she could say she was sad, but she wasn't. She felt numb, just as she had for the past eight years.

Ever since she had been brought home that day, the discipline never ended—constant beatings, constant screaming, all justified by whatever excuse Beth decided was appropriate. Annalise often wondered why Beth had taken her in to begin with. It wasn't love. It wasn't care. It was money. Of course it was.

By the age of fourteen, she had enrolled herself in a boxing class. It turned out she had a knack for it. She once even outperformed her instructor—a six-foot-two man who definitely wasn't light. She never wanted to feel powerless again.

She had spent the last seven years saving every cent she could find, hiding it in small, scattered spots around her room. Although she could have left when she turned eighteen, she decided to finish her nursing degree and set up a stable job first. Her savings alone wouldn't be enough. That was until the unexpected happened. Beth died of a heart attack, right there in the recliner she never moved from, cigarette in hand, TV blaring. To Annalise's surprise, the woman had left her an inheritance. Only four thousand dollars, but it was enough to get out of that hellhole and return to the one place that ever felt like home—Hell's Kitchen.

The train ride was long. Her suitcase and duffel bag were filled with basics: clothes, towels, kitchen gear, and hope, she supposed. Eventually, she arrived at her stop and approached the front desk of her new apartment building. The lobby was simple—a small window with a woman sitting behind it.

She offered a polite smile, briefly distracted by the familiar, unnerving feeling of a train rumbling below her feet and up her spine. Her neck twitched involuntarily.

"Hey, I'm here about room sixty-four."

The older woman behind the desk, dressed in a loose yellow cardigan, looked up and smiled warmly.

"You must be Annalise. Such a lovely name. I'm Mary. So nice to see a new face around here."

The kindness in her tone brought a small but genuine comfort.

"I am, yes. So nice to meet you."

"Likewise, hun. Here's your key. Stairs are just that way," she said, handing over the key and pointing down the hall.

Annalise nodded and made her way upstairs.

Opening the door, she was met with a pleasantly dusty scent. No smoke. No blood. No imprint of Beth. Just an empty space that was hers. The apartment was sparsely furnished—a fridge, a table, one stool, a bed, and a nightstand—but it was everything she needed. Most importantly, there were no reminders of her past life.

Two hours later, everything was unpacked. She lay spread out on her bed, letting the vibrations of the city seep into her skin. People walking, cars passing, the hum of life. It was still sometimes overwhelming, but she had learned to cope—or at least learned how to endure.

After checking her bag—phone, wallet, all good—she headed out.

Walking down the streets she used to fear as a child brought back waves of emotion. She remembered the anxiety she used to feel every time she left the church. That fear had only faded because someone had helped her through it. Someone who might not even remember her now. Someone she had never stopped thinking about.

Matt.

She crept up to the church door, gently pushing it open. The building was empty. Part of her hoped she would see a young Matt sitting in one of the pews. But that was a fantasy. It had been eight years. They weren't children anymore.