Chapter 49: Chapter50 I spoke and the room forgot how to breath
They invited me to a session.
Said it would be "constructive."
Said it would "help with closure."
I almost laughed.
Closure is a fantasy for people who had the luxury of a clean ending.
---
There were four of them sitting in the room:
The therapist.
The social worker.
The administrator.
And him.
The man who signed my admission papers like he was returning a product that didn't work as expected.
---
> "We want to hear how you're feeling," the therapist said gently.
I looked at the floor.
Then the ceiling.
Then at him.
> "Like you all want to be forgiven without the discomfort of accountability," I replied.
---
The room went silent.
Even the clock seemed to pause.
> "That's not fair," he muttered.
> "Neither was what you did," I said. "But we're still here, aren't we?"
---
I let the silence choke them for a bit.
Because sometimes silence is a scalpel.
And I needed to do surgery.
---
> "You documented my grief like a disease," I said.
"You treated my survival like a malfunction."
> "You were in pain—"
> "I was the pain."
---
The social worker opened her mouth.
I raised my hand.
She stopped.
I wasn't done.
> "You didn't just let me fall," I said.
"You buried me while I was still breathing."
---
Then I smiled.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Just… finally.
> "And now you're uncomfortable because the girl you abandoned refuses to stay quiet."
---
I stood up and walked out.
No one stopped me.
Because when the echo speaks louder than the scream,
there's nothing left to argue with.