behind every summer

Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Several weeks had passed since my time in the hospital, and I was finally able to walk again. Each step felt like a victory, like I was reclaiming a piece of myself that had been lost during those difficult months. My body had started to heal, though the emotional scars were still there, quietly lingering beneath the surface. But I had learned to accept that healing wasn't going to be an overnight process. It would take time.

Today, I found myself back at my childhood home—the place where I grew up. The house looked the same from the outside, but as I stood in front of it, there was a strange sense of familiarity and distance at the same time. It was the same house I had left behind, but I wasn't the same person who used to live there.

I pushed open the front door, the familiar creak sounding in my ears. The scent of home hit me, a mix of old wood, the faint remnants of family dinners, and the lingering smell of the garden outside. It brought back memories, some good, some painful, but it was all part of my history. I walked through the living room, my fingers brushing against the worn furniture, the same couch where I used to sit as a child, the same table where we had our family meals.

Everything was the same, yet everything was different.

I slowly made my way to my old bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and as I pushed it open, I was greeted by the sight of my bed, the one I had slept in for years. My posters still hung on the walls, faded from time. My shelves were still filled with books I had read over and over again as a teenager. It was as if time had stood still in this room, waiting for me to return.

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the familiar softness beneath me. It was strange—being back here after everything that had happened. I had gone through so much since I left this house. I had faced things I never imagined I would. But now, I was back, and despite everything, there was a sense of peace.

I stared out the window, watching the afternoon light filter through the curtains. It was quiet, calm. For the first time in a long while, I didn't feel the weight of the world pressing down on me. I knew there was still a lot to work through, a lot to process. But I also knew that I was stronger now. I had survived.

This house, with all its memories and emotions, was a reminder of where I had come from. It was a reminder of who I was before everything changed. And now, as I sat here, I realized that I had the power to move forward, to rebuild my life.

I was home, but this time, I was ready to create a new chapter.

Honestly, it felt surreal—this strange sense of calm that washed over me as I sat there, surrounded by the people I had once pushed away. The weight that had been pressing down on my chest for so long, making it impossible to breathe, was finally starting to lift. I had shared everything with them. Every tear, every moment of pain, every feeling of betrayal. And now, for the first time in what felt like years, I could finally breathe well.

I didn't expect it to happen like this. I had spent so long building walls around myself, locking everyone out. After all the suffering, all the silence, I thought I would never be able to speak about what I had been through. But somehow, one conversation had led to another. It started with a simple question—Edevane asking me if I was okay—and before I knew it, the dam had broken. Words started pouring out of me, things I hadn't even realized I'd been holding onto.

At first, it was hard. I had to confront memories I had buried deep, things I didn't want to think about anymore. I had to talk about the months I spent in jail, the feeling of being forgotten by the people I thought cared about me, the endless cycle of hurt and anger. I spoke about the accusations, about how helpless I had felt when no one believed me. The bruises, the hunger, the loneliness—they all came tumbling out in broken sentences and shaky breaths.