Rising From Ashes: My Reincarnated Love

The heavy glass doors of the local supermarket slid open. Cora Foster stepped into the brightly lit vestibule, rain dripping from the hem of her black hoodie.

The harsh, white fluorescent lights above flickered. They instantly illuminated the puddle forming around her worn canvas sneakers.

Cora reached up with freezing fingers. She pulled back her soaked hood just enough to see the aisles. The movement exposed the right side of her face.

The thick, dark red burn scar stretched from her jawline to her temple. It was jagged, angry, and impossible to ignore.

A heavy-set man pushing a shopping cart toward the exit stopped dead in his tracks. He sucked in a sharp, audible breath. His eyes widened in pure shock.

He didn't say a word. He just yanked his cart hard to the left, his tires squeaking against the linoleum. He avoided her gaze completely, rushing past her as if she were carrying a deadly virus.

Cora dropped her eyes to the floor. Her stomach tightened into a hard, painful knot. She forced herself to ignore the reaction. She walked toward the produce section, her wet shoes squeaking with every step.

She grabbed a plastic shopping basket. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the handle. She walked down aisle four and picked up a discounted box of microwave macaroni and cheese. She dropped it into the basket.

On the other side of the shelf, a supermarket employee named Trish Kowalski turned her head. Trish's eyes locked onto Cora's face.

The price-tag gun in Trish's hand slipped. It hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Trish didn't bother picking it up. She openly grimaced, her upper lip curling in disgust. She took a physical step backward, bumping into a display of canned beans.

Another employee, Sharon Miller, quickly stepped over. She nudged Trish's elbow, her posture stiffening as she pretended to restock a row of canned tomatoes. "Don't stare," Sharon murmured under her breath, her eyes fixed on the shelf but her voice tight with warning. "It's her... the one who always comes in late at night. The manager said just don't engage and let her buy her stuff."

Cora's chest squeezed. Her lungs felt like they were shrinking. She tightened her grip on the basket handle, the cheap plastic digging into her palm. She pretended the shelves were the most interesting thing in the world. She pretended she was deaf.

She turned on her heel and walked quickly toward the checkout lanes. She stopped behind a mother and her young daughter.

The little girl, Brittany White, peeked over her mother's shoulder. Her curious blue eyes landed on Cora.

Brittany stared at the scar. Her mouth fell open. Then, she let out a piercing, high-pitched scream.

Her mother, Karen White, spun around in a panic. She grabbed Brittany and yanked the child into her chest. Karen's eyes found Cora, and her expression morphed from fear to pure, unadulterated rage.

"What is wrong with you?" Karen yelled, her voice echoing across the quiet store. "Coming out looking like that in the middle of the night? You're terrifying my child! Have some common decency and cover your face!"

Every customer in the checkout lines turned to look. Their eyes were full of suspicion, defense, and pity.

Cora's heart hammered against her ribs so hard it physically hurt. Her throat closed up. She couldn't pull air into her lungs.

She clamped her jaw shut. She stared down at the scuffed toes of her canvas sneakers. She didn't defend herself. She never did.

Karen practically threw her cash at the cashier. She grabbed her bags and dragged her crying daughter toward the exit, running as if Cora were a monster about to attack them.

Cora stepped up to the register. She placed her single box of macaroni on the black conveyor belt.

The cashier, Tammy Hicks, refused to look up. Tammy kept her eyes glued to the scanner.

Tammy scanned the box with lightning speed. Her fingers visibly trembled as she punched the buttons on the register.

"Two dollars," Tammy muttered to the machine.

Cora handed her a crumpled five-dollar bill. Tammy snatched it, slammed the change onto the counter, and tossed the receipt next to it. She didn't say thank you. She didn't say have a good night.

Cora silently picked up the plastic bag. She reached up and pulled her hood far forward, completely hiding the right side of her face in the dark fabric.

She pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped back out into the freezing downpour.

The icy rain hit the exposed skin of her scar. It stung like a swarm of angry bees.

Cora wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach. She lowered her head against the wind and started the long, lonely walk back to her empty apartment.