As I packed my things—my actual things, not the items Andrew claimed I “owed to the family”—I felt a wave of sadness. Not for him. For the version of myself who had lived in that house.
The woman who learned to speak softly to avoid conflict. The woman who excused every slight, laughed off every insult, and held her breath at every dinner table. But as I zipped my suitcase, I understood something with perfect clarity:
No one changes when they know you’ll always stay.
When everything was ready, the officer walked me to the door. “Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked gently. “For the first time in a very long time,” I said, “yes.
I am.”
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