She never wanted to talk about it—our problems, my pain, her actions. Every time I tried to bring up the way she treated me, she’d either shut down or lash out. Her silence was as damaging as her words, her anger as painful as her indifference.

I loved her. I wanted it to work. But love shouldn’t feel like walking on eggshells. It shouldn’t leave you questioning your worth every single day. The emotional manipulation was constant—she’d make me feel like everything was my fault. When I was at my weakest, she discarded me as if I’d never mattered.

The abuse wasn’t just emotional; it turned physical. The day she hit me, I knew I had to leave, even if I didn’t know where I’d go. I left everything behind and found myself in Boston, a city I’d never even visited before.

Starting over was brutal. I was homeless, carrying nothing but the weight of my trauma. I worked tirelessly, picking up any opportunity I could find. Slowly but surely, I clawed my way out of the darkness. Boston became the place where I rebuilt my life—brick by brick, step by step.

Today, I’ve reached financial stability, but more importantly, I’ve found myself again. That toxic relationship taught me what I deserve and how strong I truly am. I’ll never forget the pain, but I’ll also never forget the power of choosing myself.

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