Daniel thought he had sealed the cracks.
He thought his locks, his bars, his suffocating watchfulness would keep me in place. But Daniel had never understood that the tighter you press your hands around something fragile, the faster it shatters.
The Key
The first act of rebellion came not with fire or shouting, but with silence.
Daniel left his blazer on the back of the chair one morning, carelessly, as though I were too broken to notice. But I noticed.
I saw the glint of metal in the pocket, the shape of the smallest key.
My hands trembled as I reached for it, every nerve screaming with the risk.
Daniel’s footsteps upstairs froze me. I yanked the key free, shoved it into the hem of my dress, and smoothed the fabric before he reappeared.
He didn’t notice.
That was the moment I rea
