“You told me to learn to stand on my own, Carla,” I whispered to the warm, gentle breeze, my voice steady, confident, and echoing with absolute certainty. A fierce, radiant, and deeply peaceful smile illuminated my face. “I did.”
I lowered my glass of lemonade, watching my daughter proudly hold up her painting of a bright, golden sun rising over the blue water.
“And I built an empire on the ashes of yours,” I finished softly.
As the late afternoon sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden, cinematic glow over my beautiful, unshakeable sanctuary, I turned and walked back inside my home, leaving the dark, miserable ghosts of my abusers permanently locked outside in the cold, endless dark.
