You see her rage, but I see her pain.

You ask, “What’s wrong with her?” and I could give you a thousand reasons, but I say, “Nothing,” because it’s not something you can sum up in a few words.

It’s not about today. It’s not about yesterday. It’s the weight of years—years filled with pain, betrayal, unhealed wounds, silent cries that no one heard, injustice swallowed in silence. Years of terrible memories that cling like shadows, and nightmares that never fade.

It doesn’t matter who caused it. But what matters is that I won’t leave her there. I want to stand beside her when she feels too broken to speak. I want to be the silence that holds her safely, not the noise that drowns her. I want to make her believe that healing is still possible, that not all arms will push her away. I want to love her in a way that makes the bitterness loosen its grip.

Until one day, she doesn’t carry her pain like armour. Until one day, she remembers: she is not what happened to her. She is what survived.

Also read this: No Means No