Janette's Point Of View

I’m writing this with shaking hands, not because time hasn’t passed, but because pain doesn’t obey calendars. It waits. It hides. And when it finally rises, it reminds you of everything you thought you survived.

My name is Jane, and this is not a story I tell with pride. It’s a confession. A warning. A scar laid bare so maybe another woman won’t walk the same road I did with her eyes closed and her heart unguarded.

I used to believe love was ...