The day I broke was the day the people I trusted most turned into my enemies.
At first, it was just noise. Angry voices bouncing against the walls, rising and falling like a storm I couldn't control. I stood in the middle of the room, my hands trembling, my eyes red from crying. My throat ached, raw from begging them to stop.
But they didn't.
"You should be locked away!"
"You're a disgrace to this family."
"We should kill you before you ruin us further."
The words struck harder than slaps. Each one chipped at my chest, making it harder to breathe.
These weren't strangers. These were my blood. My family.
I looked from face to face, searching for even one trace of compassion, of the warmth I grew up believing was real. Instead, I found only twisted glares, eyes filled with hatred I couldn't understand.
...
They circled me. Someone shoved me, and I stumbled back against the wall. My body was already weak, my knees buckling, but I stayed upright.
"You did this," my brother spat.
"Admit it," another brother pressed.
"You'll end up in the basement where you belong."
Basement. Kill. Lock away. The words blurred together, echoing in my skull.
My chest hurt, my left hand tingled, my face felt heavy and wrong. Panic was spreading like fire in my veins.
"I didn't do anything!" I cried, voice cracking. "Why are you saying this? Please—stop, please—"
They didn't stop.
One of them grabbed my arm, wrenched it aside. Another shoved me to my knees. My cries turned into ragged gasps.
And then—worse than their hands on me—they took my little girls away.
I caught sight of their small faces, wide-eyed and confused, as someone pulled them from the room. Their cries reached my ears, muffled, fading, tearing at my soul.
"No! Not them!" I screamed, crawling forward on unsteady hands and knees. "Don't take my babies! Please, don't—"
The door slammed. My children were gone.
...
Hours blurred. I don't remember all the words they said, only the constant barrage: accusations, insults, threats. My body shook from exhaustion, from fear.
"You'll go to the mental hospital," one of them sneered. "Either that, or you'll never see your daughters again."
"You're pretending," another hissed. "All this pain—fake. Just another trick."
I tried to rise, tried to explain, but my voice kept breaking. My chest tightened until I thought my heart would give out.
It broke me.
I felt something inside me collapse, a crack deep in my spirit.
...
Through the haze of shouting, a friend of mine lay slumped on a bench outside. I invited him for a visit, he worried about me, but they grabbed him and something happened.
They did not let me see him, until I heared them laugh how he will die, how he lost counciousness. I grabbed my phone, while one of them tried to pull it out of my hand. I dialed 911. When i started speaking, i heared brother say, "Why no, you can go to him, nobody is blocking you."
I hurried into the room, clutching my phone and still listening to woman on another side.
He wasn't moving. My instincts cut through the fog. I fall to my knees beside him.
"Please," I begged into the phone, "he's not waking up—"
Behind me, laughter.
"She's pretending."
"They're both pretending."
"An act, nothing more."
I pressed a hand to his chest, counting his heartbeats to keep steady. One, two, three—each second stretched into eternity.
Finally, sirens wailed in the distance. Relief rushed through me, only to be crushed by another wave of mockery as the paramedics arrived.
They carried him away. I tried to follow, but strong arms shoved me back.
"You're not going anywhere," someone growled. He turned to paramedics and started telling them, how I am crazy. They smilled and ignored my trembling body.
I was trapped.
Then came the second set of sirens. Police.
...
I staggered forward as the officers approached. Tears streaked my face, but I forced myself to speak. I stood strong and pulled every inch of power.
"They attacked me," I said, voice shaking. "They took my children. Please—help me!"
One of the officers frowned. "We'll sort this out. Just stay calm."
For a moment, hope flickered. Maybe, finally, someone would believe me.
But the words that followed crushed that fragile spark, after they talked to my family.
"They're only trying to protect you."
Protect me?
I stared at them, uncomprehending. Protect me by threatening to kill me? By stealing my children?
The officers shook their heads, unconvinced by my protests. "We can't do anything," one said flatly. ''These are family matters."
And with that, they left me to the wolves.
...
I knew then—I had to find my children myself.
One family member smirked. "Now you can see your kids."
I ran. My legs barely worked, each step sending pain shooting up my spine. But I forced myself forward, into the room where my daughters were kept.
I dropped beside them, gathered them into my arms, and held on as if the world could tear us apart at any second.
I was shaking, exhausted, but for the first time in hours, I felt a sliver of peace.
It didn't last.
My brother entered. His shadow stretched across the doorway.
"Get up," he ordered.
I rose slowly, clutching my girls. He shoved me hard, knocking them from my arms. My heart screamed as I scrambled to catch them, but he blocked me.
"This is my house," he snarled.
Tears blurred my vision. I tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes burned with something darker than anger.
He stepped closer, pushing me toward the stairs.
"Get down," he hissed, voice low, dangerous. "Or I'll push you."
My whole body trembled. Pain shot through my left side—my leg cramped, my hand went numb, my face tingled as though half of me was shutting down.
Was this how I would die? Crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, my children crying above me?
I clutched the railing, each step a desperate prayer. Please, let me live. Please, let me see my girls again.
Behind me, his footsteps creaked closer.
When I reached the last step, he seized my face in his hands. His grip was iron, his breath hot against my cheek.
I asked:"Why?"
"Because I love you," he said, eyes wild.
Revulsion churned in my stomach.
"Let me go," I whispered. "Don't touch me."
He didn't. His arms crushed around my back in a grotesque parody of a hug. Pain lanced through me as something snapped in my lower spine. I cried out, my tears soaking my face.
...
And then headlights cut across the windows. A car door slammed.
The father of my children stepped out.
He saw everything.
"That was not necessary," he said flatly.
Relief surged. He was here—finally, he would take us away, save us from this nightmare.
I looked at him, my voice a desperate plea. "Take our kids and let's go home."
But he ignored me. His eyes flicked to my mother. Then he walked into the house, leaving me broken near the stairs.
...
I followed, dragging my aching body, forcing my legs to move.
"Where are you? Let's go home," I begged. "Where are the kids?"
He sat calmly in the living room, surrounded by the others.
"We need to talk."
"What did you do?"
"How could you?"
"I didn't do anything!" My voice cracked, rising in desperation.
But they didn't listen. They pressed harder, circling me with accusations and conditions.
"You won't get your kids back unless you go to the hospital."
"Three days. You have three days to obey."
I swallowed my pride, my sanity, my heartache.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll get psychiatric help. But I want me and my girls gone from here."
They exchanged glances, then nodded.
"Someone will stay with you," one said.
...
Later, I sat in the car. My daughters leaned against me, too tired to cry anymore. My head throbbed, barely holding me upright.
In the mirror, I caught sight of my mother's cold stare, of the father of my children's silence.
Judging eyes. Silent condemnation.
My heart shattered all over again.
This was the night I lost everything.
...
The house was quiet again, heavy with the silence that always followed the storm. My body ached from the weight of it, bruises carved deep inside where no one could see. I moved through the small routines on autopilot—feeding the girls, washing their little faces, whispering promises I wasn't sure I could keep. Every breath felt like an effort, every step like dragging chains through mud.
By the time the sky darkened and the shadows stretched long across the walls, I couldn't hold myself together anymore. I climbed the stairs, clutching the railing for balance, and locked the bedroom door behind me. The click of the lock felt like the only protection I had left. I dropped onto the bed fully clothed. The room swam, then disappeared into blackness.
The vibration of my phone dragged me back. It was my friend, the one person who still dared to check on me. I pressed the phone to my ear with trembling fingers.
"I can't feel my left arm… or my leg," I whispered. My voice was thin, broken. "Maybe I should just rest."
For a moment, the other end of the line went quiet. Then his voice cracked like thunder.
"No. Don't you dare close your eyes. I'm calling an ambulance right now!"