I was sixteen years old. At the purest, most innocent time of my life… when everything should have been games and laughter, I faced a dark burden.
My body was no longer mine. Inside me, there was a silent truth growing: I was pregnant. But this was not a miracle. It was proof of a burden forced on me, one I could not control. I felt this pain in every breath, in every step.
And the nightmare did not end. The abuse continued. Every new day refreshed the pain inside me, and every moment passed, breaking my soul a little more. I wanted to scream, but my voice was stuck. I wanted to say "stop," but my hands and my fear made me silent. The world had no sound; there was only my fear, only my helplessness.
Feeling the silence in my stomach gave me a little more pain every morning. When I looked in the mirror, there should have been a familiar face, but there was no childhood in my eyes. Only fear, shame, and a heavy responsibility. Every move I made carried the mark of those nights; every breath carried a lost piece of me.
My body was growing, but I was shrinking. My life turned into a darkness that had never known the lightness of being a child. Every morning, I was born again in that darkness; but this birth was full of pain and fear