When my uncle died, something inside me changed. For years, I had carried the weight of pain and fear. His death was not simple news — it felt like the past had opened again. The moment I heard it, I felt a storm in my heart. The ropes that had tied me to that dark time finally broke.
But it wasn't the end of my pain. After that, I started to search for my daughter. I wanted to find her, to hold her, to tell her that none of this was her fault. Every day I tried to be strong, but inside I was falling apart.
Depression became my silent shadow. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed. Other days I tried to smile, but the pain never really left me. I was fighting — fighting for myself, for my daughter, and for the little piece of hope still living inside me.