I used to cry in my room every night, wondering what I had done so wrong to deserve the way you treated me. Every word you spoke felt like a knife—sharp, cold, calculated to make me feel small. You'd tell me I was too sensitive, too lazy, too selfish, like there was something wrong with me just for existing. You made me believe I was unlovable, that nothing I did would ever be good enough. But now, standing here at 19, living on my own, waking up every day in a space that feels safe and mine… I can finally breathe. And you know what? I don’t think about you at all. Not like I used to. Not with that ache in my chest or the guilt that came from wanting distance. I’m free.

When I turned 18, I knew I had to go. It wasn’t even a question. The moment I had the right to leave, I was already packing my bags. I didn’t care that I had nowhere solid to land—I just knew I couldn’t stay in that house one more second. You tried to guilt me, tried to twist it around like I was abandoning you. But deep down, I think even you knew why I left. You spent years picking at me, controlling me, making every little mistake into something massive, just to keep me feeling like I needed you. But I didn’t. And once I stepped outside, once I got away from the constant tension, the criticism, the fake kindness that always came with a price—I started to realize how messed up it all was.

Now? I’m happy. Genuinely. I have friends who actually care about me, a small apartment that might not be much but it's mine, and a job that makes me feel proud—even if it’s not some big dream yet. I can eat what I want, sleep when I want, laugh out loud without being told I’m annoying or dramatic. For the first time, I feel like I have a future. And when people talk about their moms, about calling home, I just smile and nod. I don’t feel jealous. I don’t feel bitter. I just… don’t think about you. Not because I’m cold, but because you don’t get to live in my head rent-free anymore. You took enough of my peace growing up—I’m not giving you any more.

I don’t need an apology. I don’t even need closure. I built my own life out of the wreckage you left behind. And yeah, some days are hard, and healing isn’t linear, but I’m doing it. Without you. And that feels like the strongest thing I’ve ever done. So if you're wondering if I miss you, if I regret walking away, if I think about what you’re doing or if I’ll ever come back—the answer’s simple. I don’t think about you at all.

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