The Fallen Salesgirl - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading The Fallen Salesgirl, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of The Fallen Salesgirl.
I had nowhere else to go. So I dragged myself back to the one place I swore I'd never return to—home.
The moment my parents saw me, their faces twisted in shock. "What happened?" they demanded. But the words stuck in my throat. I just shook my head, silent.
My mother's panic spiraled fast.
We were a farming family, scraping by on whatever the land gave us—and whatever I sent back from the city. My little brother was in college, blowing through my money on some girlfriend who treated him like an ATM. My paychecks had been the only thing keeping this house standing.
Now that the money had stopped, so had their patience.
When I refused to explain, my mother took matters into her own hands. She asked around. Dug up rumors.
Then one afternoon, as I sat numb in my childhood room, she burst in like a storm. Fingers tangled in my hair, yanking hard. Two sharp slaps cracked against my face. "I didn't raise a whore!" she screamed. "How could you disgrace us like this?"
Tears burned down my cheeks. "I didn't—I was attacked!"
Her hands trembled with fury. "The whole village knows you're ruined! Who'd want you now? You've shamed us all!"
I fought back, strands of hair tearing loose, scattering like broken promises on the floor.
Then my brother's voice cut through the chaos. "You went to his place at night—what did you think would happen?" His lip curled. "If I'd known how you earned that money, I'd have thrown it in the gutter."
My father just stood there, silent, his face shadowed with disgust.
Their words kept coming, each one a knife. Until something inside me shattered.
"You think I wanted this?" My voice broke. "After rent, bills, sending you three thousand every month—saving for his future—you think I had a choice? You think cash just falls from the sky in the city?"
"Call me a whore? Have you ever groveled at a client's feet? Been trapped in a room for days, begging just to breathe?"
I turned on my brother, my vision blurring. "And you—living off my back while you judge me? Who's the real leech here?"
His face turned scarlet. Then his foot slammed into my stomach. "Shut your disgusting mouth, you filthy bitch!"
The air left my lungs. I hit the ground, choking.
By the time I could move again, my hair was sticky with spit.
I grabbed my phone, my wallet, my ID. Nothing else. Then I limped out the door.
Blood seeped through my jeans before I even reached the town line.
At the hospital, the doctor's voice was grim. Trauma. Hemorrhaging. And worse—the kick might have stolen any chance I had at motherhood.
One brutal moment. That's all it took for my brother to destroy more than just my pride.
The moment my parents saw me, their faces twisted in shock. "What happened?" they demanded. But the words stuck in my throat. I just shook my head, silent.
My mother's panic spiraled fast.
We were a farming family, scraping by on whatever the land gave us—and whatever I sent back from the city. My little brother was in college, blowing through my money on some girlfriend who treated him like an ATM. My paychecks had been the only thing keeping this house standing.
Now that the money had stopped, so had their patience.
When I refused to explain, my mother took matters into her own hands. She asked around. Dug up rumors.
Then one afternoon, as I sat numb in my childhood room, she burst in like a storm. Fingers tangled in my hair, yanking hard. Two sharp slaps cracked against my face. "I didn't raise a whore!" she screamed. "How could you disgrace us like this?"
Tears burned down my cheeks. "I didn't—I was attacked!"
Her hands trembled with fury. "The whole village knows you're ruined! Who'd want you now? You've shamed us all!"
I fought back, strands of hair tearing loose, scattering like broken promises on the floor.
Then my brother's voice cut through the chaos. "You went to his place at night—what did you think would happen?" His lip curled. "If I'd known how you earned that money, I'd have thrown it in the gutter."
My father just stood there, silent, his face shadowed with disgust.
Their words kept coming, each one a knife. Until something inside me shattered.
"You think I wanted this?" My voice broke. "After rent, bills, sending you three thousand every month—saving for his future—you think I had a choice? You think cash just falls from the sky in the city?"
"Call me a whore? Have you ever groveled at a client's feet? Been trapped in a room for days, begging just to breathe?"
I turned on my brother, my vision blurring. "And you—living off my back while you judge me? Who's the real leech here?"
His face turned scarlet. Then his foot slammed into my stomach. "Shut your disgusting mouth, you filthy bitch!"
The air left my lungs. I hit the ground, choking.
By the time I could move again, my hair was sticky with spit.
I grabbed my phone, my wallet, my ID. Nothing else. Then I limped out the door.
Blood seeped through my jeans before I even reached the town line.
At the hospital, the doctor's voice was grim. Trauma. Hemorrhaging. And worse—the kick might have stolen any chance I had at motherhood.
One brutal moment. That's all it took for my brother to destroy more than just my pride.
End of The Fallen Salesgirl Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to The Fallen Salesgirl book page.