The reflection

I sucked in a breath and sat up straighter, my spine stiff against the wooden chair. Across from me, my mother, Margaret Throng, sipped her tea, her eyes scanning my face as if I was doing something wrong. 

"You didn't practice your walk enough today," she said. 

I clenched my fists under the table. Nothing was ever enough for her.

"Mom, I've been training for hours," I said, keeping my voice low. "I barely got any sleep last night because I was going over my routine."

She sighed, dropping her teacup down. "Excuses won't win you the crown, Lisa."

I bit the inside of my cheek. This was how it had always been. I wasn't just competing for myself, I was competing for her, for our family's reputation.

Ever since I was fourteen, my mother had pushed me into the world of beauty pageants, convinced that winning a title would open doors for us. I used to believe it too. That if I could just win, everything would change.

But five years later, all I had were losses.

And another contest was just around the corner.

The Celestial Princess Pageant was my first real shot at making a name for myself. I was fifteen, eager, and foolishly confident. I had spent months preparing and practicing my walk, perfecting my answers, forcing myself into an image of elegance that didn't quite feel like my own.

But none of it mattered when I stood on that stage.

The lights were blinding, the judges' gazes so much at me, and the other contestants looked like they belonged there.

I, on the other hand, felt like a pretender. 

And when the final results were announced, my name wasn't even in the top five.

I had lost.

I still remember standing backstage afterward, my crownless reflection mocking me in the mirror.

And then came my mother.

Margaret swept into the dressing room, her expression cold. She didn't say anything at first. She just looked at me, her silence heavier than any words she could have spoken.

Finally, she said, "Do you understand now?"

I swallowed hard. "Understand what?"

"That you weren't good enough."

The words hurt, but what hurt more was that I had said the exact thing to myself. 

I wasn't good enough.

Not for the judges.

Not for my mother.

Not for anyone.

But instead of breaking, I made myself a promise: I would never lose again.

There comes my second attempt; 

By the time I entered the Elite National Beauty Competition at sixteen, I was different. Hardened.

I trained obsessively, pushing my body and mind to the limit. I practiced my walk until my feet gusted, rehearsed my answers until I could say them in my sleep.

I refused to be the girl who lost again.

And for a while, it seemed like things would be different.

I nailed the swimsuit competition. My interview was flawless. Even the judges seemed impressed.

Then came the final round.

It was between me and another contestant, a  girl named Vivian Hayes.

She was perfect. Tall, poised, with effortless charm. But I refused to believe she was better than me.

The host drew a long, dramatic pause before announcing the winner.

"And the crown goes to... Vivian Hayes!"

My heart dropped.

I smiled because that's what you're supposed to do, but inside, I was broken.

Another loss. Another disappointment.

As I walked off stage, I spotted my mother in the crowd.

She wasn't clapping. She wasn't smiling.

She simply turned away.

And that hurt more than anything.