I wasn’t supposed to make it this far.
There were nights when I almost didn’t. Nights when the loneliness was so loud I could hardly breathe. After my divorce, raising two children on my own, the pressure crushed me. I worked myself sick just to keep food on the table. And when the nights grew too heavy, I would stare into the dark and wonder if my story was meant to end there.
But every time I felt like giving up, I heard my mother’s voice. She was a fighter—she came to this city with nothing, and somehow she built a life out of scraps. She used to tell me: “You’re stronger than you think. Never let anyone take your name, or your worth.” Even when I was at my weakest, even when I failed, her words kept me from falling all the way.
Life scarred me. I’ve had my heart broken more than once. I’ve lost people I thought I couldn’t live without. I’ve had to smile when all I wanted was to disappear. But no matter how much was taken from me, I never lost myself. That was the one thing she gave me: a sense of dignity that no struggle could steal.
Now, after all these years of surviving, I don’t want to just endure anymore. I want to feel alive. I want to laugh again, even if it’s only for a night. Maybe I’ll find a man who will stand by me, maybe just someone whose touch makes the cold a little less sharp.
Either way, I’m ready.
Because I’ve carried the darkness long enough. And I finally understand: strength doesn’t mean living without love—it means daring to seek it, even after everything.
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