I didn’t notice it at first, how careful I had become with my words. How I second-guessed myself before saying anything, making sure I wouldn’t trigger his anger. If I said the wrong thing, he’d lash out—not always physically, but with words sharp enough to leave wounds that didn’t heal.

I remember the night it clicked for me. I was apologizing for something I didn’t even do—just to keep the peace. My hands were shaking as I sent the text. I stared at the words, and suddenly, I felt disgusted. Not with him. With me.

Why was I apologizing for existing? For feeling? For speaking? That was the night I packed my things and left. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I was going. But I knew one thing: I deserved to exist without fear. I deserved to speak without shrinking. And that was enough to start over.

      - Saylor