~ Becca ~
The memories came when I least expected them.
A laugh drifting from a café. A perfume in the air that smelled vaguely like Stephen. The sound of heels clicking against pavement. Small things, harmless things or at least they seemed harmless at first but they carried the weight of two years. Two years of control, of manipulation, of quiet humiliation.
I would stop. Close my eyes. Let the memory run. Not to hurt myself. Not to dwell. But to remember why I was doing this.
Stephen’s voice came first: sharp, amused, dripping with condescension. “You’re overreacting, Becca. You’re too sensitive. You always think people are out to get you.”
I could feel it in my chest even now. That tight coil of doubt, shame, the tiny voice that once whispered I wasn’t enough.
And then another: “
