I don't even remember how it started.
One moment, I was folding the baby's tiny clothes, my fingers trembling but determined. The next, I was flat against the cold floor, my ears ringing, the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue.
The room spun violently.
I couldn't tell if the cries I heard were my baby's… or my own.
Steve's voice roared above me, a raging storm I couldn't escape.
His boots slammed against the floor near my head, every step making the ground tremble beneath me like an earthquake.
"You think you're leaving me?" he spat, his face looming over me, distorted and monstrous. "You think you're BETTER than me now?"
I wanted to scream back, but my lips barely parted. The pain in my ribs was unbearable, every shallow breath slicing through me like broken glass.
The edges of my vision grew darker with every heartbeat.
I was slipping.
My baby—where was he? Was he safe? Was he breathing?
I tried to lift my head, but my body wouldn't respond. My arms felt like lead, my legs numb and useless beneath me.
The world became distant, like I was sinking underwater, the sounds muffled, my own heartbeat pounding louder and louder in my ears.
And right there—on that filthy, blood-stained floor—I felt something shatter inside me.
It wasn't just my bones.
It was my will.
My hope.
My very reason to keep breathing.
For the first time, I thought—Maybe this is how it ends. Maybe this is the last time I have to feel anything at all.
And I welcomed it.
The darkness. The silence.
Because anything was better than the life I had been living.
I don't remember the ambulance.
I don't remember the hands lifting me off the floor or the cold air brushing against my bruised, broken skin as they rushed me into the night.
When I woke up, it was to the blinding white light of the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic choking me before I even opened my eyes.
My body refused to move.
Every inch of me was on fire, but it was nothing compared to the numbness inside.
I turned my head slowly, my cheek scraping painfully against the stiff pillow, and there—beside me—was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
My baby.
Sleeping. Breathing. Alive.
Through swollen eyes, I stared at him. His tiny fists curled against his chest, his soft breaths rising and falling.
And in that moment, something deeper than pain washed over me—a grief so profound it felt like I had already died and was standing at the gates of something beyond this life.
How had I let it go this far?
How had I come so close to leaving this tiny, perfect soul all alone?
Steve came to the hospital, his shadow falling across my bed like a bad dream refusing to end.
"Baby… please… I didn't mean to. You just—you made me angry. You know how I get…" His voice cracked, tears running down his face as if they could wash away the horror he'd left on my skin.
I didn't look at him.
Because I had nothing left to say.
Something had died in me that night.
The part of me that cared.The part of me that hoped.The part of me that still believed in his lies.
All that was left was a mother.
And she was stronger than the broken woman lying in that hospital bed.
That was the day I truly died inside.But in my death… a new version of me was born.
One who would never again apologize for surviving.One who would never again stay silent in the face of cruelty.One who would never again believe that love should hurt this much.
And when I left that hospital… I left the old me behind.
Forever