UNBROKEN

CHAPTER ONE: WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

Chapter One: Where It All Began

My name is Celia, and I am eighteen years old.

If you're reading this, chances are you're trying to figure life out, just like I am. Maybe you're a young girl with dreams bigger than your circumstances. Maybe you're carrying pain nobody knows about. Or maybe you're simply looking for someone whose story sounds a little like yours.

This is mine.

I was born to a twenty-year-old mother and a thirty-year-old father, the first child of a family that was never ready. My mother was young, beautiful, hopeful, and deeply in love. She believed she had found a man who would protect her and build a future with her. Instead, she found herself trapped in a life she never imagined.

When I was younger, I thought every family lived the way mine did. I thought shouting was normal. I thought crying yourself to sleep was normal. I thought women hiding bruises and pretending everything was fine was normal.

It wasn't.

My father drank heavily. When he was angry, everyone in the house felt it. The smallest mistake could turn into a storm. Some nights, I would lie awake listening to my parents argue, my heart racing as objects crashed against walls.

Not long after I was born, my brother Gideon arrived. Later came the twins, David and Devina. With every child, life became harder.

Money was always scarce.

My father would disappear for months, leaving my mother to carry the weight of raising four children alone. Then, when things became difficult for him elsewhere, he would return as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he brought promises. Sometimes he brought trouble. Most times, he brought both.

We lived in a small face-me-I-face-you apartment where privacy didn't exist and peace was rare. The walls were thin enough for neighbors to hear our struggles, yet nobody seemed able to help.

I watched my mother fight every day to keep us alive.

She sold whatever she could sell. She skipped meals so we could eat. She worked herself to exhaustion, yet there were still days when there wasn't enough.

As a child, I didn't understand sacrifice.

I only understood hunger.

I only understood watching other children go to school with lunch boxes while I worried about whether my school fees would be paid.

I only understood feeling different.

Sometimes I stayed home while my classmates learned and played. Sometimes I stared through windows, wondering why life seemed easier for everyone else.

The pain slowly changed me.

I became angry.

Angry at my father.

Angry at life.

Angry at every man who reminded me of him.

I convinced myself that men were cruel and selfish. I promised I would never trust one. I promised I would never depend on one. I promised I would never marry.

At the time, those promises felt like protection.

What I didn't know was that life still had many lessons waiting for me.

Lessons about friendship.

Lessons about love.

Lessons about heartbreak.

Lessons about mistakes.

And lessons about healing.

As I grew older, I found comfort in books. At first, they were simply an escape from reality. Whenever the shouting started or sadness crept in, I buried myself in stories.

Those stories became windows.

Through them, I discovered worlds bigger than my own. I met characters who survived things I thought would destroy them. I learned that pain wasn't the end of a person's story.

Little by little, my mind began to change.

Not overnight.

Not magically.

Just enough for me to start asking questions.

What if my life could be different?

What if my future wasn't already decided?

What if there was more to love than the version I had witnessed growing up?

I didn't know it then, but life was preparing me for lessons I could never learn from books alone.

Lessons about friendship.

About belonging.

About self-worth.

About first crushes and first heartbreaks.

About mistakes that would leave scars and victories that would make me stronger.

Most importantly, lessons about myself.

The girl who once cried herself to sleep every night had no idea that one day she would learn to dream again.

And that is where my story truly begins.