I don’t think I ever told you how much I noticed. How much I see you, even when you think no one does.

You walk into a room, smiling, laughing, making sure everyone feels comfortable. You listen when people talk, you remember the little things—favorite colors, bad days, silent struggles. You give and give and give, like the world hasn’t tried to take everything from you.

But I remember. I remember the pieces of your story you let slip when you were too tired to keep up the act.

I remember Jenna.

I remember the way her name alone made your face darken, just for a second, before you forced a smile and changed the subject. I remember the night you finally told me about her, about what she did to you. About the words she carved into your self-worth like they were facts—about how she made you believe you weren’t enough, weren’t wanted, weren’t worthy.

I remember how long you stayed, even when it hurt. How you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d be kind again, the way she was in the beginning. How you thought that if you were just better, if you just tried harder, she’d stop tearing you down, stop using your kindness against you.

But she didn’t.

She saw the softness in you and turned it into something to exploit. She made you feel like love had to be earned, like you had to prove your worth over and over again—until there was nothing left of you but doubt and exhaustion.

And even now, after all this time, after you finally walked away, I see the way it lingers. The way you hesitate before asking for help. The way you laugh off apologies like they don’t matter. The way you make sure everyone is okay, but never let anyone see when you’re not.

And God, it kills me. Because I know you would never do to anyone what she did to you. I know you have every reason to shut people out, to be bitter, to stop caring. But instead, you do the opposite.

You are kind.

Because you know what it feels like to be destroyed by someone who wasn’t.

And I just wish—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. Not as someone broken by the past, but as someone who survived it. As someone who deserves the same love you give so freely to everyone else.

You are not the things she made you believe.

You never were.