She killed me with silence.
And I accepted it. Because I deserved it.
The day the paper arrived, I sat in my cell and stared at that s**t for a long time. I thought a thousand times about tearing it up. About just letting it go. But there, with my stomach aching from hunger, my body covered in bruises, with no hope in sight, I signed.
I signed. Because I thought I had nothing left to lose. I thought nothing from the outside could reach me more than what was already eating me alive on the inside. But I was wrong. I didn't associate the name of that b***h with the person at the time. Not until she came for the first visit—the only one. I knew that s**t was going to go south, and I regretted it bitterly, but I had no idea what she was capable of.
And when I found out the damage she caused
