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    ~ 50%


    59


    Sienna’s POV


    Iy down, pulling the nket up to my chest. A long exhale escaped my lips.


    I was tired. Not just physically, but in the way someone feels after a long battle where no one really wins. I didn’t even know if this


    was a victory or just another escape.


    My eyes stared at the ceiling. nk. Empty. And strangely, that emptiness felt more honest than the fake smile I used to wear in


    that house.


    I remembered Noah. His innocent face lying on that hospital bed. His small eyes looking at me full of hope, full of longing. Only


    that child made me hesitate. Only because of Noah did I still ask myself: Should I go back?


    But should I return to the very ce that slowly killed me, just to be beside a child who doesn’t even know what’s happening?


    Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes. Warm, and somehow reaching deep into my chest.


    I love Noah. So much. But I can’t sacrifice myself again-not even for him.


    I’ve tried before. Stayed for others. Stayed for the family name. Stayed for the sake of appearances. But all of it only hurt me


    deeper. I don’t want to make the same mistakes just because of longing or guilt.


    I know, in the end, I have to choose myself first.


    I wiped the tears with the back of my hand, then slowly sat at the edge of the sofa. Morning air crept in through the slightly open


    window, carrying the scent of coffee from downstairs.


    Usually, I would wee that smell with excitement, but today… everything felt empty.


    I looked around Liliana’s apartment. The quiet living room. Books scattered on the table. A thin nket still neatly folded on the


    arm of the sofa.


    This ce felt unfamiliar, but for now, safe enough for me to hide from the world. Liliana hadn’t asked many questionsst night.


    She just looked at me with understanding eyes and held me without a word. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.


    I took a deep breath. My phone kept buzzing asionally on the table. Who knew how many messages were waiting, but I didn’t


    open a single one. I didn’t want to read apologies, or sweet promises, or begging words that always came toote. I’ve been the safe harbor after every storm too many times, thest resort too often.


    I thought again about the question that echoed in my head all night: “Are you sure you want to leave?”


    Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to live in fear anymore. I don’t want to keep feeling small in a love that never healed. I want my life back. Even if I have to start from nothing. Even if it means losing many things. Including Noah.


    And maybe… maybe one day, when I’m strong enough, I’ll go see him. I’ll exin everything. But not now. Right now, I need to


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    save myself first.


    50%


    My hand reached for the small notebook in my bag. I’ve had this book since the beginning of my marriage-a ce where I wrote down all the feelings I couldn’t say out loud. I flipped to a nk page and began to write:


    “Today, I choose myself. Not because I’m selfish. But because I’m tired of always giving in. I want to know what it feels like to be happy… without wounds behind my smile.”


    My hand paused. I closed the book gently.


    This is a new beginning, isn’t it?


    Maybe the first step hurts, but I believe, one day, I’ll be grateful I dared to take it.


    The sound of the apartment door opening pulled me out of my thoughts.


    I lifted my head.


    Liliana appeared with a tired smile, carrying two stic bags from the supermarket.


    “I’m home,” she said softly.


    I gave a faint smile. “Aren’t you tired?”


    She just shrugged and headed into the kitchen. I followed, offering to help, but she refused.


    “You rest. I’m used to this,” she said while putting vegetables and snacks into the fridge.


    I sat back down at the dining table, watching Liliana’s back as she tidied her groceries.


    I felt guilty. Staying in her apartment, bringing all this burden with me, quietly carrying wounds she knew about but never


    questioned.


    “Liliana,” I said softly.


    She turned. “Hmm?”


    “I might go home today.” Liliana paused for a moment. “Why? Are you ufortable here?”


    I quickly shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I’m actuallyfortable. But I can’t stay here forever. Liam can find me anytime he wants, and I don’t want to see him again.”


    She looked at me for a while, then smiled. “If that’s what you’re morefortable with, Sienna. I won’t stop you. I understand.”


    I nodded slowly. Liliana has always been like that-never asking too many questions, but always there when I need her. She never judges my choices. Not like the people who only see from the outside.


    That night, I turned on the bedroommp, dimly lighting the room. I sat in the chair near the window, watching the city that never sleeps. Headlights of vehicles shing past on the roads. The faint sounds of city life still humming. But here, behind the ss… I felt safe.


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    I opened the window slightly. The night air drifted in slowly, bringing a sense of calm. You once loved me, Liam.


    But you also let me feel unworthy for far too long. Now it’s my turn… to love myself. I know that in a love like that… I’ll never feel


    like I’m not enough.


    The night crept on, wrapping the city in a silence that slowly became familiar. I remained seated by the window, letting the night breeze touch my cheek. Its sound was soft, like a whisper from nature, soothing me. There was no rush, no pressure to be strong


    or to smile.


    I picked up a notebook I hadn’t touched in ages. On the first page, my name was still written-Sienna-in ink that had begun to


    fade. Below it, a small quote I had written years ago: “Don’t forget, you deserve happiness too.”


    I smiled faintly. That quote felt both foreign and familiar. I had once written it to cheer myself up. But time and pain had made me


    forget.


    Now, I wanted to write it again-with new ink, with a new heart.


    Slowly, I began to write. Not about him, not about the wounds, but about hope. About who I was before all of this happened. About the girl who once had dreams, who onceughed at little things, who never felt the need to ask permission to feel enough.


    I wrote about mornings I wanted to celebrate with coffee and jazz music. About afternoons I wanted to spend reading in the park. About nights no longer filled with silent crying behind the bathroom door.


    Because my life is no longer about surviving just to be loved by someone else. It’s about choosing to love myself—wholly,


    11:19 AM Tue 2 Sep