Bound by Power

The Shackles of Tradition

I once believed that love was a lighthouse in the storm of my family’s cruelty. But I was wrong. Every hand I reached for was not there to save me, but to pull me deeper into the abyss. My heart, still soft despite the scars, became a feast for predators. I was exploited, used for my kindness, and discarded like a broken toy.

The shadows in our house grew longer. My brother’s wife, driven by a toxic, ancient jealousy, resorted to the dark arts of sorcery. I was surrounded by women who saw my existence as a threat, their whispers and spells weaving a net of misfortune around my life. Every relationship I entered failed before it could even begin, poisoned by a malice I couldn't understand.

I came to a bitter realization: a family either builds a human being or leaves behind a pile of broken complexes. In our tribal society, being a girl is like being a prisoner born into a sentence she didn't commit. We are the vulnerable ones, the targets of exploitation, forbidden from even seeing the sun.

For two years, I was a ghost. Locked away from the world, forbidden from stepping outside. My only view of life was through the cracks in the walls. I was a kind soul trapped in a cage of iron traditions and blood-soaked betrayal. I sat in the darkness, wondering:Is there anyone strong enough to break these chains?