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I had this book where I wrote down everything she did, like my own secret diary. But she found it, and she burned it all. All my words, all my proof, gone.

I felt so small, like I couldn’t do anything to stop her or prove what she did.

I remember having this page in my notebook where I scribbled ‘NOT REAL’ over and over again. He kept insisting I’d done things I hadn’t, trying to make me believe I was a bad person. I scribbled so hard, my pen went through the page.

It was like all the shouting inside me found its way out onto that paper.

I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world. It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay.

But on days when I forgot, I got scared. What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What would happen if she answered the door? She would find out what I was doing.

I still put flowers in my window now. Now that I am safe. I just want to let people know.

He was a control freak. He made schedules for everything, even when I could eat or sleep. I was too scared to do anything differently.

I didn’t have the freedom to choose for myself.

I called it my escape fund, tucked away at the back of my wardrobe, hidden behind my clothes. He never bothered to look there.

Any spare change I had went straight into my secret stash.

One day, I’d save up enough to break free, to find my own place away from him.

She always appeared wherever I went, and I couldn’t figure out how. Later, I found out she’d put tracking software on my phone.

I felt trapped, like I couldn’t escape no matter where I went. It was like she was watching me all the time.