Dorothy sat curled in her wheelchair, blanket wrapped around her legs, staring at the silent TV. Her phone buzzed with a message from Daniel, but she ignored it, her mind replaying the restaurant incident. The air in the room was heavy with a loneliness she could taste, and the world outside felt impossibly far away.

Dorothy inhaled deeply, forcing her trembling hands to grip the wheels. She focused on the rhythm—push, roll, breathe. As she passed a mother and daughter, the child smiled shyly, and for a heartbeat, warmth bloomed in Dorothy's chest.

Man 1, his grin wide and eyes glinting, leaned down close. "Need some help, sweetheart?" The words dripped with mockery. Man 2 stepped forward, boot slamming into the small wheel, spinning Dorothy sideways. Her gasp caught in her throat, hands gripping hard enough to ache. Man 3 raised his phone, recording, his voice echoing: "Smile for the camera." The crowd began to gather, whispers and stares multiplying, pressing in. Dorothy tried to push through, but they blocked her at every attempt, their taunts growing louder, more cruel. Relief came only when a security guard approached, scattering the men. The last one lingered, whispering, "Check online later." before melting away.

Dorothy[/@ch_1]'s phone lights her face as she scrolls, the world outside reduced to shadows.] The video is everywhere—her shock, her pale, stricken expression, all captured in shaky pixels. The caption sneers: “Wheelchair drama queen causes scene at grocery store.” Dorothy looks to Daniel, hope flickering in her eyes. "Did you see this?" she asks, voice small. Daniel doesn’t look up from his laptop, only shrugs. "Don’t read that stuff. It’s the internet. People are cruel." Dorothy swallows, feeling the chill deepen. She never suspects that Daniel is the one orchestrating her torment, tightening the noose of her isolation.

Dorothy glides in beside Daniel, her black gown trailing softly, pearls at her ears. For a fleeting moment, surrounded by music and glitter, she feels almost invisible, almost safe. But as Daniel is drawn into conversation, a woman in a striking red dress approaches—Vivienne, tall and poised, her presence commanding the room. "Oh, you must be his sister. He didn’t tell me you’d be here," she says, voice syrupy sweet. Laughter ripples through the group. Daniel says nothing, his hand resting lightly on Vivienne's. Dorothy's face burns as the circle closes around her, the music suddenly a cacophony.

Dorothy[/@ch_1], cold night air rushing in. The city glitters beyond, headlights streaking the street. She wheels herself to the car, breath fogging, tears streaking her cheeks.] Her hands tremble as she grips the armrests, each breath jagged. She sits in the dark, the echo of laughter and humiliation still ringing in her ears. Inside her, something fragile finally snaps; the noose Daniel has slipped around her spirit is pulled taut. In that silent parking lot, Dorothy realizes she cannot keep living as a ghost, cannot let her own life slip away, thread by thread.