The house was quiet again, too quiet. That kind of silence that feels like a trap, as if the walls are waiting for something to go wrong.
Josh was already home when I walked in. His bag flung carelessly on the chair, his eyes tracking me like a shadow.
I didn't speak. Just walked straight into the kitchen, poured water, drank it like it could rinse off the tension building in my spine.
But he followed me.
You've been acting funny lately," he said.
I ignored him.
All that closeness with Anna, is she teaching you to be proud?
Still, I said nothing.
He stepped closer. Too close.
You think you're better than this house now, right? Better than me?"
That was when he reached out boldly, entitled, trying to graze my waist like it was his.
I slapped him.
Not a soft warning, but a sharp, stinging sound that echoed. His eyes widened, more from disbelief than pain.
Don't you ever touch me again, I said, voice shaking not with fear, but force. You don't get to act like this never happened. You don't get to touch me like I'm a thing you own.
Josh stood frozen.
I didn't wait for him to answer. I walked out.
Out of the house. Out of the confusion. Out of shame.
And into Anna's arms.
She opened the door before I could knock twice. The moment she saw my face, she knew. She didn't ask questions, just pulled me in and held me tight, like I was something worth protecting.
We sat in her room, the light dim, the night louder than our silence.
Then I told her everything.
All of it.
The night in the kitchen. The silence. The confusion. The shame.
Uncle Benny's laugh. His words.
Maybe I've been overreacting, I said, not even sure if I believed that.
Anna leaned forward. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the fog.
Purity, you haven't been overreacting. You've been under protected. That's different."
I blinked.
Josh assaulted you.
I stared at the floor.
And your uncle gaslit you into thinking it was normal. That's abuse too."
I didn't speak.
I didn't need to.
My silence wasn't denial anymore. It was an agreement.
Because finally… someone said it.
Out loud.
And I didn't have to defend myself.
And for the first time, someone named it.
Purity, this is abuse.
No one had the right to touch you without your consent. Not Josh. Not anyone. And your uncle? He manipulated you into silence. That's not protection. That's control.
Tears welled up, but they didn't fall.
Anna's guardian came in shortly after a woman with tired but kind eyes.
A woman whose presence didn't ask to be respected it just was.Anna told her everything too
She looked at me with eyes that had clearly seen more than I could imagine.
You're safe here," she said simply. And we'll help you heal, not just survive.
I nodded slowly. That word again is safe.
How strange that I had forgotten what that felt like.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt safe in the presence of an adult.
You're not going back there, her guardian said. You'll stay here until we figure this out together.
I nodded not out of fear. Out of relief.
That night, Anna brought me three books.
Books about healing. About reclaiming your story. About how trauma doesn't make you weak, it makes you human.
And as I flipped through the pages, I saw pieces of myself stitched into the stories. Girls who survived worse. Girls who learned to rise.
POV: The world starts to shift the moment someone tells you — I believe you.
Over the next few days, I breathed differently.
No shadows trailing my steps. No walls listening in on my silence.
I started journaling again.
Not because I was okay, but because I knew healing didn't start with perfection it started with truth.
And truth was no longer my enemy.
I began therapy with slow, quiet, careful steps.
I painted again, too this time, not to escape, but to express. I painted pain, hope, confusion and slowly, meaning began to rise from the colors.
Uncle Benny called. I didn't pick up.
Josh sent a message. I deleted it.
Their silence would no longer cage me.
I woke up in Anna's guest room.
The window was half open, letting in fresh air that smelled like lavender and safety.
The silence wasn't heavy. It wasn't watching.
It was soft, calm. Finally quiet in a good way.
I stretched and rolled over. My phone buzzed on the table.
Three missed calls from Uncle Benny. One message.
Pick up. I raised you. Don't let a small thing turn you against your family."
I deleted it.
Then blocked him.
I wasn't his to raise anymore.
After breakfast, Anna's guardian, Miss Nene, took me to a quiet bookstore tucked in an old street. The kind of place where the walls smelled like old paper and unspoken stories.
She handed me a small notebook.
Use this to write yourself back to life. Page by page.
I held it close.
We sat in a corner with tea and I flipped through the first pages. Blank and patient.
Like they weren't rushing me to explain anything.
I don't know how to start, I said.
You already have, Miss Nene said. "By walking away."
Later, Anna dragged me to the community art space.
The walls were painted in wild strokes, and there were people my age laughing, sketching, sculpting, painting on the floor like joy was currency.
I stood frozen for a moment.
Then someone offered me a brush.
Want to try?
I nodded.
The first stroke I made was shaky.
The second, firmer.
By the third, I forgot Josh's voice.
By the fourth, I remembered my own.
Anna watched me from across the room, beaming.
And for a second just a second I felt like I could be someone new. Someone more.
Back home that evening, I sat with my new notebook and wrote:
I thought walking away would break me.
But maybe I've been standing in the wrong place all along.