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When I looked in the mirror for the first time since Grayson attacked me, I barely recognized the girl staring back. She had the same gray eyes framed by long lashes, the same long hair, and the same button nose. But the reflection wasn’t the girl I knew before that night.

I used to see myself as strong, resilient—especially after losing my entire family. But now, all I see is a broken shell of the person I once was. I'm no longer the girl my mother and father raised, or the girl my grandfather told old war stories to, or the girl who cared for her cancer-stricken little brother until he reunited with our family in heaven. Now, I am the girl who obeyed the man who broke into my home with a gun. The girl who listened silently to his deranged words, who couldn’t move, couldn’t resist his touch. The girl who stayed awake while he slept beside me, a gun pressed to my back.

Even after everything he did to me, I couldn't fight back or hurt him. I was paralyzed—frozen like a statue, unable to move, unable to react. That’s who I’ve become—weak, fragile.

When James found me, shattered and broken in my own home, it felt like he could see right through me—like he knew I was damaged beyond repair. I am not the woman he fell in love with. I am just a fractured version of her.

Even when James risked his life to save me, I couldn’t respond. It was like when I heard the news of my parents' death, or when I got my brother’s diagnosis, or the first time Grayson became violent, and James had to step in. I shut down.

When I look in the mirror now, I see a weak girl, incapable of defending herself. And when James had the chance to kill Grayson, what did I do? I cried—cried for the man who had stalked me for months, the man who made me afraid to sleep at night.

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