Her voice
She didn’t cry. She never did. She just sat there—quiet, brittle, waiting for the voice to say something she hadn’t heard before. Maybe something kind, by accident.
But it never did.
“You’re alone because you deserve to be. People sense it—that thing in you. That heaviness. That need.”
She closed her eyes. The voice wasn’t yelling now. It didn’t need to. Whispered poison hurt more than screams.
