Crystal is running
Bare feet slamming against the cold floor, lungs burning, heart pounding louder than the woman screaming behind her.
"Come back here."
Her mother's voice isn't loud.
It's sharp.
Dirty.
The kind of voice that doesn't need to shout to hurt.
Crystal is nine years old and already knows how to run without crying.
Behind her, little Maha stumbles, only seven, fingers gripping Crystal's shirt like it's the only thing keeping her alive.
"Don't you dare protect her," their mother spits.
"She's weak because of you."
The house smells like cigarettes and something rotten.
Love never lived there—only control.
Their mother never needed to hit Crystal to destroy her.
She knew better ways
Her words shaped her mind:
"You're selfish."
"You're destroying everything."
"It won't last forever."
Her words were etched into Crystal's mind, creating invisible wounds, internal wounds that would stay with her.
As for Maha, her failure was less severe, but it left a trauma on her body and soul, scarring her in a different way.
And in the end... the mother left this world by suicide, leaving behind fragments of fear, doubt, and memories they would never forget.
….