I woke up early, the sunlight slipped through the curtains and painted patterns across the floor, my body felt heavy, drained from the last few days, but my mind, somehow, was alert, sharper than it had been in weeks, I no longer felt the fragile fog of fear that had kept me submissive, whispering in my ear to obey, to bend, to pretend, something had shifted.
I called one of the household staff quietly,"bring breakfast to my room," I said softly, my voice calm, he words carried authority, small but deliberate, I wasn't ready to face the family table again, I wasn't ready for the whispers, the polite smiles that concealed judgement, or the way their eyes measured me against some impossible standard.
The tray arrived, simple fare, and I ate slowly, savoring every bite, each swallow felt like reclaiming a piece of myself, every sip of juice, every bite of bread was a subtle defiance, a reminder that I had a choice now, even if it was just small ones.
