They say betrayal doesn't just break your heart—it rewrites who you are.
I was seven when I learned that love could lie.
I watched my mother die with a broken heart.
It wasn't sudden. It was a slow unraveling—days blurring into nights filled with unanswered questions and silent tears.
Until the night my father didn't come home.
He said it meant nothing. That it was a mistake. But I saw what it did to her. I saw the light leave her eyes, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but shadows and pills in the kitchen cabinet.
People think heartbreak doesn't kill you. They're wrong.
It does—it just takes its time.
After the funeral, I promised myself I'd never be her.
Never love that blindly.
Never let anyone in close enough to ruin me.
Years later, I broke that promise.
I met him—charming, patient, the kind of man who knew how to wear sincerity like skin. I let myself believe in second chances. I let myself fall.
And he betrayed me, too.
But the strange thing about life is… sometimes, just when you've sworn off love, it finds you again—quietly, like the first light after a long storm.
And the scariest part?
This time, I don't know if I'm strong enough to walk away.