A Letter to the Self Who Stayed

Anna wrote the letter three times. Once in anger. Once in grief. Once in a handwriting

so steady it scared her. It was addressed to the version of herself who stayed

too long. Who mistook survival for loyalty. Who believed love was something earned

by sacrifice. She didn’t seal the envelope. Instead, she read it aloud

in her empty living room, voice shaking only at first. “I forgive you,”

she said. “You didn’t know better. You were doing your best with the tools

you had.” The silence that followed felt holy. For months after leaving,

she’d waited for relief to feel dramatic. Victorious. Clean. Instead,