No emotional pain either. I only felt an immense wall of resistance building inside me, a force he could neither touch nor break. He saw it too. He saw death for his control in my eyes, not death of me, but death of his ownership over me. And suddenly, he collapsed. His body, once filled with so much rage and cruelty, slumped into a chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He hid his face with his hands, literally like a man who had just witnessed his funeral. He could not meet my eyes anymore because he knew. He knew that he had lost the only thing that made him feel powerful: my fear.
He cursed me, he cursed my fate, he cursed the day I was born. He lashed out with the only weapon he had left, words that once would have shattered me, but sounded impotent at the time. But they did not touch me anymore. His curses hung in the air like smoke, meaningless and weightless. I stood there, unmoving, letting his bitterness wash over me without even a flicker of response. And I said quietly, firmly, without shaking, “Keep cursing all you want. You have lost the plot.” That is how I destroyed his power, not with shouting, not with violence, with stillness, presence, with the look.
It took me years of silent suffering to get to that moment years of carrying a burden that was never mine, years of learning to shrink myself just to survive, years of second-guessing my worth, questioning my sanity, believing their lies. But when that moment finally came, it did not take grand speeches or revenge plans. It took only one thing: the return of my soul to myself. And once that look was given, there was no going back.
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