Loading...
She lives beside a body that breathes, but feels long dead — beside a voice that wounds softer than a whisper. Day after day, she serves, listens, endures — until one day, she dares more than she’s allowed. She tries on a dress that isn’t hers. Steps over a line. Moves toward herself. But the path to freedom is never clean. It begins with a stain. With threads that come undone. And ends with a car, the wind, the road — and a howl in which we hear: she’s still alive.
Leave a reply