~ Becca ~
Silence took practice.
At first, it felt like punishment. Like holding my breath underwater just to prove I could. I was used to explaining myself why I was tired, why I was upset, why I needed space, why I ate what I ate, why I didn’t feel like smiling. With Stephen, silence had always been treated like defiance, something to correct. He needed answers. He needed reassurance. He needed control.
Here, in this city where no one knew me, silence was optional.
I learned to let conversations pass without filling the gaps. To listen more than I spoke. To respond slowly, deliberately, instead of rushing to please. The first few times, it made my skin crawl. My instinct screamed to soften myself, to laugh, to make things easy. Old habits die screaming, not quietly.
But every time I
