The Echo of a Silent Scream

Previously

…A choice flickered before me: pretend nothing had changed, keep stumbling through days like a sleepwalker, or finally peel back the scabs and face the rot beneath. I looked at the slip of paper, then tucked it deep into the pocket of my jeans, letting the edges prick my palm. Someone was watching. Someone knew. And this—these messages, these accusations—was only the beginning. I stood there in the glow of my desk lamp, the silence pressing in. I couldn’t keep hiding. Tonight, I’d make a choice. Even if it meant shattering what little I had left.