Broken Glass-Prologue

I used to think survival meant silence.

If I stayed still long enough, small enough, I could slip through life unseen. Untouched. Safe.

What I didn’t know was that I’d become something even I didn’t recognize.

By the time realization set it, it was too late.

Still, I found a way to survive, thrive even. I functioned. I adapted. I endured.

The world saw a woman who never flinched, never cracked.

But the truth was always there, humming beneath the surface. Waiting.

Breaking doesn’t always sound like glass. Sometimes it’s quiet. Almost kind. 

But sometimes, it’s a choice whispered into your own reflection.

The moment you stop holding your breath and decide to finally exhale—to accept whatever comes next.

When everything collapsed—love, trust, illusion—I didn’t dissolve.

I rebuilt.

The silence didn’t save me.

The fire did.

This story isn’t wrapped in tidy redemption.

It carries sharp edges, bruised truths, and the pieces I once tried to bury.

But I’ve stopped hiding.

Every version of me has earned the right to be here.

Every scar, every scream swallowed in the dark, every laugh forged in defiance—they all belong.

And I’m through asking permission.

This time, I’m not handing the story over—I’m dragging it into the light myself.

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