He took me by the arm and led me to the shop. "Go," he said, his voice firm, almost demanding. "Buy what you need."
I hesitated, my heart hammering. "Can I…? Can I even buy things without worry?" I whispered. Every purchase under my ex had been a question, a request. I had to ask for everything. Even food—I could only take meat for the fridge once a month when he drove us. That was it.
Sebastian's eyes locked onto mine. "Stop asking if you can. Just get a pair. Now."
For a moment, I froze, unsure if I could. But then I realized—I could. And for the first time in years, the choice was mine.
I picked out a pair of winter boots and checked myself in the mirror. They were almost army-style but cream-colored, made for women.
"Are they… fine on me?" I asked, unsure.
A woman nearby glanced at me, smiled, and said softly, "You look beautiful, young woman," before walking away. I felt a shy warmth rise in me.
Sebastian looked down at his own boots and said, "Let's get them and go. Do you need anything else?"
I hesitated, and he added with a grin, "Of course you do. Let's grab that punch dessert I saw downstairs in the food department."
As we walked through the store, my eyes scanned the shelves, but I said nothing. He had told me I could take anything I wanted, yet it felt strange—this wasn't how I had been taught. Every little thing I needed, I always had to ask permission for.
Sebastian noticed my hesitation and frowned. "This isn't normal for a human to feel—or to ask—in this way," he said, gently but firmly.
I swallowed and admitted, "I… I always asked others before. I rarely had the courage to buy anything for myself. Usually, I used my birthday as an excuse, so nobody could attack me with words."
I forced a smile, pretending everything was fine, but in the back of my mind, memories of days with no food, of empty cupboards and hungry nights, came rushing back.
Sebastian started picking things up for me, placing them gently in the basket. At first, I hesitated. "I… I can do it," I murmured, my voice unsure.
He shook his head, smiling faintly but firmly. "No, let me. You need to feel this is safe, that you can have what you need without asking for permission."
I watched him, a strange mix of relief and embarrassment rising in me. Every item he placed carefully—bread, fruit, even a small treat I hadn't dared take for years—felt like a tiny act of freedom. I realized how much I had been taught to shrink, to wait, to beg even for necessities.
When he handed me the basket, he said softly, "You see? Nothing bad happens when you take care of yourself. You deserve this."
For the first time in years, I believed him—and myself.
I hesitated a moment, then reached for a small jar of jam. My fingers trembled slightly, but Sebastian didn't comment. He just smiled, silently encouraging me. Each item I picked up—tea, a little chocolate, fresh vegetables—felt like a small victory.
By the time we reached the checkout, I had started to smile, almost without realizing it. The cashier looked at me and said, "Looks like someone's enjoying shopping today." I flushed, but this time it wasn't shame—it was a tiny spark of pride.
Sebastian leaned down, his voice quiet beside me: "See? You can do this. You don't need permission anymore."
For the first time, I felt that maybe I could believe it. Maybe I could live without fear.
As we walked out of the store, bags in hand, I noticed the sunlight glinting off the windows. I felt lighter, as if each step carried away a little of the years I had spent shrinking in the shadows. And for the first time in a long time, I felt… capable.
I paused in the aisle, looking at the shelves. Normally, I would just grab what was needed for the house or the kids, but now… I was alone in this choice. I asked myself, what do I actually need?
I picked up a small package of feminine care items. My hands shook, not from weakness this time, but from years of hesitation. This is for me, I reminded myself. Not for anyone else. Not for my ex, not for my mother. For me.
Sebastian noticed the small smile that escaped me. "Go ahead," he said softly. "It's yours. Choose what you want. It's normal. It's human."
I nodded and let myself take a few more things I had always denied myself—comforting lotions, a soft scarf, even a small notebook I could write in. Every item felt like reclaiming a little piece of myself, a tiny rebellion against years of control.
For the first time, I realized that shopping could be more than survival—it could be a way to care for me, to remind myself that I matter too.
When the papers came, I didn't want to open them. My hands trembled as if they already knew. Inside were words — cold, official, black on white — but they cut deeper than any blade.
The truth I had barely managed to speak, the truth I had carried like a stone in my chest for years, had been erased. Denied.
Everything I told the police, every scar I showed, every trembling sentence I forced out… they said it never existed. They said I lied. They painted me as wild, careless, a woman who "had fun" and "left her kids," a woman who spent money, who chased other men. They turned me into a monster on paper.
But the worst part wasn't the officials. It was my family. My own blood. The ones who had seen pieces of the truth, who had whispered about the neglect, the problems, the bruises… They lied. They stood by him. They protected him.
Something inside me cracked.
They are not my family. Not anymore.
I thought about my childhood — how often they called me a liar, even when I wasn't. How I despised lies. And now, here they were, lying to police, lying to save face, lying to bury me under their stories.
The last thin thread of hope for justice, for truth, for them to stand with me… snapped.
All I ever wanted was peace. Just a quiet life where I could care for my kids, watch them laugh, feel safe. That was all.
But no.
Even that, they took from me.
The papers, the denials, the lies — they didn't just erase my words, they tried to erase my life. My heart ached with a weight I had never known. I wanted to scream, to throw everything, to collapse on the floor and never get up.
Instead, I sat there, trembling, clutching the edge of the table as if it could anchor me to reality. The world had turned against me, and I was left in the cold silence of betrayal.
Sebastian sat beside me, calm but firm. "We will not let them erase your life," he said, his voice steady. He opened his laptop and began helping me write another report, carefully detailing everything that had happened. I watched, amazed, as his fingers moved quickly, every word precise.
"I studied law in Switzerland," he said quietly, almost as if reassuring me. "I know how they try to twist the truth. But this… this is your story. Your voice. And I will make sure it is heard."
He looked at me, his dark eyes soft yet intense. "They can lie, they can protect him all they want. But we have the facts. And we have you."
For the first time in months, a spark of hope flickered in me. Maybe… maybe it wasn't over yet.
As we waited for responses from the papers, Sebastian suggested, "Let's have a small garden."
At first, it felt almost surreal. I was outside, the sun warming my face, a gentle wind brushing my hair. For the first time in years, I felt a tiny bit of peace. Slowly, as my body allowed, I dug into the soil, planting tiny seedlings in the few feet of earth we had. Each plant was a small promise, a symbol that I could grow, even after everything I had endured.
Sebastian watched quietly, occasionally giving tips, but mostly letting me work. The simplicity of the moment, the sun, the soil between my fingers… it grounded me. It was almost like therapy—the garden absorbing my pain and returning calm in its place. For the first time in so long, I felt like I could breathe.
I turned to him, voice barely above a whisper, "I don't remember any time in my life that I felt this peaceful… like I do now."
He gave me a small, understanding smile, the kind that made me feel seen without needing words. Something heavy seemed to fall away from my shoulders—years of fear, exhaustion, and pain. For the first time, I didn't feel nervous. I didn't tremble. I just… was.
The wind played through the young leaves around us, and I felt connected to something bigger than myself, something gentle and alive. In that quiet moment, I understood that even after everything, even after betrayal and loss, I could still find space to breathe, to exist, to rebuild.
Sebastian watched me, silently, giving me that space, letting me feel it fully without interruption. I realized then how rare it was to feel safe, to feel grounded… and how much I needed it to heal.
But it was not over yet.