Mark still calls sometimes. His messages say he misses me, that the house feels empty. But I know better. He doesn’t miss me — he misses the woman who stayed quiet while everyone else made decisions for her.
That woman doesn’t exist anymore.
She disappeared the day six fingerprints erased her place in her own home.
I didn’t walk away because I lost.
I walked away because I refused to stay in a space where I no longer had a voice.
Some doors, once opened to the wrong people, can never be closed again.
And sometimes, the only way to find freedom is to walk through a new one — alone, but unafraid.
