The Police Station
204 Words
The police station smelled of cold tiles and tension.
I sat on a hard chair, clutching my phone like a lifeline.
Damien had been called in hours ago.
His silence was louder than any confession.
When he finally appeared, his eyes avoided mine.
No anger.
No apology.
Only fear.
The officers questioned him for what felt like an eternity.
I watched as the confident man I once loved cracked under pressure.
When they asked about the accusations — the abuse, the lies, the forced abortions — he stumbled.
Denied some.
Admitted others.
But the damage was done.
The police took his statements seriously.
And for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope.
Hope that I could break free.
Hope that the nightmare might end.
But freedom came with a price.
Damien’s anger exploded outside the station.
He cursed me, threatened me, tried to twist the story.
But I stood firm.
Because I knew the truth.
And truth was my weapon.
That night, as I lay in bed, bruises hidden beneath long sleeves, I whispered to myself:
This is not my fault.
This is not my shame.
This is my fight.
The road ahead was uncertain.
But I was ready to walk it
- Writer
