6th June

My name is Fiona Sinclair, and right now I'm curled up in the corner of my rented room, the burning sensation on my skin still fresh from yesterday. But I know clearly that wasn't yesterday. It was my previous life—a nightmare I could never forget. In that previous life, I was just a recent university graduate, soft-spoken and indecisive, always the one overlooked at home. My brother, Micah Sinclair, was three years older than me, with a steady job and a handsome face—my parents' pride. He had a girlfriend named Joyce Lawrence, the woman who later dragged me into hell. Joyce was beautiful and sweet-talking; the moment she stepped into our home, she had my parents smiling ear to ear. I was the only one who felt a vague, inexplicable hostility hidden in her gaze. I thought it was just my imagination until the day my brother said he wanted to treat us to hot pot. That hot pot restaurant was Joyce's choice—newly opened and said to be authentic. We sat by the window; my brother was busy serving dishes to Joyce, while Mom and Dad smiled nearby, teasing about their love. I lowered my head and sipped the sour plum drink, saying little—never imagining disaster would strike so suddenly. "Fiona Sinclair, have you no shame?" Joyce suddenly slammed her hand on the table and stood up, her voice sharp as nails scraping glass. I was startled and looked up, only to see her bloodshot eyes locked fiercely on me. "You think I don't know you've been secretly messaging Micah Sinclair? You're nothing but a seductress trying to steal my boyfriend!" I was stunned. When have I ever sent my brother flirtatious messages? I was about to explain, but Joyce had already charged at me. Her strength was terrifying; she grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved me down hard. My face suddenly pressed against the scorching spicy hot pot; the sharp scent of chili and the rising steam made it hard to breathe. "You like to seduce people, don't you? I'll make sure no one ever wants you again in this life!" The moment the searing pain hit, I heard my parents' startled cries and my brother's desperate attempts to stop it, but they were all too slow. By the time they pulled me away, my face was ruined—skin shriveled and blistered, my right eye barely able to open, and the corner of my mouth split from the burn. After that, my life completely sank into darkness. I was admitted to the hospital, enduring the excruciating pain of daily dressing changes, but my family rarely came to visit. Mom and Dad said Joyce Lawrence didn't mean to hurt me and told me not to take it to heart; my brother promised he would convince Joyce to apologize and asked me to wait a little longer. But I waited a long time—only to hear of Joyce and my brother's wedding. On their wedding day, I hid alone in the hospital room, staring out at the sunlight, feeling for the first time that living was more painful than dying. After the marriage, Joyce Lawrence moved in with us, and she grew even more reckless toward me. She would intentionally splash boiling water on my hand and badmouth me in front of my parents, turning them further against me. As for me, scarred and disfigured, I became more and more withdrawn, wrapping myself up tightly whenever I went out. I thought life couldn't get any worse than that—until that afternoon. I was cleaning the house when Joyce suddenly came back from outside, holding a glass bottle. Her eyes were wild, with a sinister smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fiona Sinclair, are you still seducing Micah Sinclair? I saw him talking to you yesterday!" I was so frightened that I stepped back, shaking my head, denying it. But she wouldn't listen; she suddenly twisted open the bottle cap and splashed the liquid onto me. It was sulfuric acid. That bone-melting pain was even worse than the red oil in hot pot; I could hear the sizzling of my skin being corroded. I screamed and collapsed to the ground, staring at my arms, legs, and now disfigured face, utterly consumed by despair.