The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and blooming flowers. My little girls ran ahead, their laughter echoing against the trees surrounding our yard. I watched them for a moment, feeling my chest swell with warmth I hadn't realized I was missing. They were mine. Safe. Alive. And I was here, finally able to play with them.
I gathered some sticks from the edge of the garden and began weaving them into a circle, just as I had seen people do in old village games. My hands moved carefully, fingers twisting and bending the wood, shaping something simple but fun.
"Mom! What are you doing?" my eldest asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"I'm making a game," I said, standing and brushing dirt off my hands. "See this stick? We'll put it in the ground here." I jabbed a small branch into the soft soil. "Now, you toss these circles toward it, and if it lands on the stick… you win."
They squealed and ran to grab the circles I had woven earlier. The smallest one stumbled but quickly regained balance, giggling.
"Watch me, Mom!" she called, spinning in a little circle before tossing hers. The hoop wobbled, teetered on the stick, and fell. My eldest cheered at the effort.
We played for what felt like hours, laughing at failed throws, celebrating small victories, and teasing each other gently. I had to push myself to kneel, bend, and run, despite the ache in my back and joints, but I didn't mind. Their happiness made it easy to forget the pain.
Eventually, the circles were all lined up on the grass, some toppled, some still. The girls looked at me with wide eyes. "Mom… what can we do now?"
I smiled, crouching down to their level. "Let's make crowns. We can put flowers inside these circles. Then we can wear them."
Their eyes lit up, and they ran to the edge of the garden, gathering wildflowers of every color—purple, yellow, white, pink. We filled each circle carefully, pressing flowers in gently. The smell of petals and earth filled the air.
"Now we put them on our heads!" my eldest said, carefully balancing hers like a queen's crown.
We paraded around the garden, twirling and laughing, petals brushing our faces. I joined them, feeling their joy settle in my chest like a warm fire. For once, I wasn't thinking about court battles, exes, or the past. I wasn't planning or protecting. I was simply here, fully present, a mother with her children.
I glanced at their tiny faces, glowing with excitement and freedom, and whispered to myself: This is what I fought for. This is why I never gave up.
...
The sun had lifted the morning fog, leaving the playground shining with soft autumn light. Asiola walked with her two girls down the familiar path, the gravel crunching beneath their boots. The nightmare from last night still clung to her ribs like a bruise—images of her ex-partner tearing apart everything she built, breaking her peace with his anger, scattering her small joys. She had woken with her heart racing, breath cold, hand gripping the blanket.
But now… the world smelled of leaves and children's laughter.
Her youngest daughter ran ahead toward the little playhouse, while the older one stopped to look at the tennis courts where a couple of older teens were practicing their serves. The ball echoed sharp against the concrete, and the girls watched with wide eyes before losing interest and skipping to the swings.
Asiola followed slowly, letting the autumn wind cool her heated thoughts.
On the way, a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller waved warmly.
"Dobro jutro!" she called.
"Dobro jutro," Asiola answered, lifting her hand with a small smile.
A moment later an older man walking his dog nodded to her with familiarity. Then a young couple jogging by greeted her too, as if she were part of the scenery—someone known, someone safe.
The girls tugged at her coat.
"Mama, who is that? How do they know you?" the older one asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Asiola knelt down so she was eye-level with them.
"They're neighbours," she explained gently. "People who live close to us. Friends from around here. We see them often, so we always say hello."
Her younger daughter tilted her head. "They like you?"
A soft chuckle slipped out of her. "Yes… I think so."
Saying it out loud surprised her. For years she had lived under the shadow of someone who made her feel unlikable, unworthy, invisible. Someone who convinced her that no one cared about her, no one noticed her.
But here, in this simple place, in this small community… people saw her. They greeted her without fear, without tension. They smiled because she existed.
Her daughters ran to climb the little wooden castle, and Asiola sat on a nearby bench. The nightmare whispered again at the edges of her mind, but something was different now—something steadier.
She wasn't alone.
People knew her. People greeted her. Her girls laughed freely. Her steps on the gravel felt like steps into a new life.
She watched the two little heads bobbing around the playground and breathed in deeply.
Maybe the past would haunt her some nights…
but the present was choosing her each day.
The day came faster than I wanted. My girls had to visit their father again. I felt a heavy knot tighten in my chest, but I couldn't let it show. Not to them, not to myself. I needed to be strong—stronger than the memories that haunted me, stronger than the fear that still lingered in the shadows of my mind.
After dropping them off, I went straight to the small gym I had started using. It wasn't fancy—just a corner of the garage converted into space with weights, a punching bag, and a mirror—but it was mine. Every bead of sweat, every grunt of effort, was a statement: I wouldn't be broken again.
I wrapped my hands, feeling the fabric tighten around my knuckles, and hit the bag. The thuds echoed in the room, a rhythm that matched the anger and determination building in me. I imagined him there—my ex—smirking, trying to diminish me, trying to convince me I wasn't enough. Every strike, every movement, I told myself silently: No. Not anymore. I am enough. I am strong.
I switched to the weights. My arms shook under the strain, my lungs burned, but I welcomed it. Pain was different now—it was fuel, not punishment. Each lift reminded me of every small piece of myself I had rebuilt, every moment I had refused to let him dictate my life. I was lifting not just metal—I was lifting my past, my fear, my rage, and turning it into power.
Then I moved to the floor, doing push-ups until my shoulders screamed, until my chest burned. I paused, hands trembling, and looked at myself in the mirror. Sweat streaked my hair across my face, my body leaner, more alive than it had been in years. My eyes—sharp, alert—stared back at me like someone I had just met, someone I could finally trust to defend what was hers.
I whispered to the reflection, almost like a vow: "I will protect them. I will protect myself. I will never be small again."
The bag of resistance bands called next. I worked with them, twisting and pulling, imagining every potential threat, every shadow of fear I had carried. I was readying my body to move fast, strike hard, stand firm. Not just for me, but for my girls. They were small and vulnerable, and I had been powerless when others tried to harm me. That couldn't happen again. Not now. Not ever.
Finally, I collapsed on the mat, chest heaving, sweat soaking through my shirt. My hands shook, my legs burned, but a grin tugged at the corners of my lips. I felt alive. I felt dangerous. I felt… ready.
When I finally left the gym, the sun was lowering behind the hills. I breathed in the crisp evening air, my body tired but my mind clear. I knew this was only the beginning. The next time I faced fear—whether it was him, his manipulations, or anyone else who thought they could touch my life—I would be ready.
Stronger. Faster. Fierce. Unstoppable.
And my girls… they would see a mother who could stand tall, who could fight, who could protect them without trembling.
Because I had finally learned… the power I had wasn't just in my body. It was in me.