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