An Unspoken Name
I had been drowning long before I lost him. Most days, I barely felt like I existed. Depression wasn’t just a feeling - it was an absence. A void inside me that no one seemed to notice. I moved through life like a ghost, unheard, unseen. My family barely acknowledged me unless it was to point out my failures. I had no real friends, no one to confide in, no reason to believe things would ever change. And then, two pink lines. For the first time in years, I felt something other than emptiness. Fear, yes, but also hope. There was life inside me, a tiny heartbeat that was all mine. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had a reason to keep going, a purpose that no one could take away from me. But I was trapped in more ways than one. The abuse had been going on for months - words that cut like knives, hands that left bruises in places no one would see, threats that made me too afraid to leave, too afraid to fight back. Every day was survival. Every day was walking on glass, hoping I wouldn’t say or do ...