Chapter Two: The Girl Who Endured
Every day became a mirror.
She woke before the sun.
Her house was quiet.
Not peaceful.
Just hollow.
Her mother no longer made breakfast.
Her father no longer asked if she'd slept well.
They ate in separate rooms,
like strangers who shared a roof.
She left for school early
slipping through shadows to avoid the bullies.
They threw rocks.
They threw words.
It used to hurt.
Now it was just normal.
Teachers marked her papers with praise—
but never remembered her name.
At home, dinner waited cold.
She ate alone.
They all did.
It hadn't always been this way she thought.
After dinner, she walked to the forest.
To the swing.
To the vines that are curled like comfort.
To the wind that didn't ask questions.
She didn't speak.
She didn't cry.
She just sat.
And it felt like the forest was the only thing that listed.