She stood at the marked spot. The mirror was perfect.

Her face was adorned with a petite, well-shaped nose, glowing skin, shining eyes, and a winsome smile showing off pearly white teeth. 

I’m beautiful. She was lost. 

“Sara!” 

She stumbled at the sudden call but steadied herself. Standing on the mark was critical—not too close, not too far—just right!

“Amma!” She replied, smiling at the woman who walked in and stood behind her.

“I wish you would replace the cracked mirror,” her mother cried.

“Cracked? It’s flawless. Precisely covering the scar.”

“Again I ask. Isn’t it better to get the scar removed through surgery?”

“And again I say. I don’t want to see my scar! But I want others to see it so they may ask me about it if anyone has the courage to do so. That will be the cue for my story, one that will not only inspire other girls but put the fear of God into men who try to take women for granted.” 

Her mother’s face clouded at the horrible memory.

It was a dark night in more ways than one. Her ex-son-in-law had raped Sara, not before holding the end of a cigarette butt on her face long enough for a third-three burn. 

He had said he was angry that she wasn’t conceiving. He had said raping her might work! Blaming her for his own infertility, just as he had found faults with her to cover his misogynistic insecurities since their marriage. Sara reached her tether’s end. 

A month later when all were asleep, she heated an iron rod and scorched his infertile private parts! 

She walked out with her head held high even as his terrible screams filled the air with a demonic dread! 

Photo by Alexandru Zdrobău on Unsplash