“I loved you both… why?”
They said my name. They begged me to listen. But the betrayal was too deep, too cruel. I packed a small bag, lifted my sleepy toddler into my arms, and walked out into the night.
No screaming. No door slammed.
I simply left.
And I stayed gone for seven years.
Those years were hard. I raised my son alone, working whatever jobs I could find, stretching every paycheck, learning slowly how to live with disappointment. I never told him the truth. I didn’t want my bitterness to poison his childhood. I convinced myself that I’d moved on.
But some wounds settle quietly beneath the skin, pulsing with every heartbeat.
