Page 43 of Fallen Empire
People are quick to judge.
Quick to say what they would’ve done. Quick to cast an opinion on a mess they don’t have to live inside.
“I would’ve left the first time.”
“She should’ve listened to her friends.”
“I could never let that happen to me.”
I used to believe them.
Back when I was the one handing out protection orders. Back when I was an attorney, standing beside women who begged for safety I could barely promise.
I thought I was different. Educated. Respected.
A woman whohelpedsurvivors, not one who’d become one.
But fear doesn’t care how many degrees you have.
It doesn’t care how strong your voice is in a courtroom.
When it comes, it wraps around your throat and squeezes.
It whispers in the dark.
It tells you no one will believe you.
It tells youhe’s powerful—and you’re not.
And when you finally need someone—
When your face is swollen, your ribs ache, your accounts are frozen—
Those same people with their easy opinions?
Gone.
Because everyone wants to be part of your story when you’re standing tall.
But rock bottom?
That’s when you find out who gives a damn.
I should’ve left before it got worse.
But tell me—Define worse.
Was it the belt the first time? The one that split my lip and kept me home for three days because I couldn’t smile without bleeding?
Was it that broken finger he bent backward while whispering,“This is what happens when you embarrass me”?Back then, I didn’t understand what he meant. But I do now.
Or was it the moment I stopped shielding my face—because I knew I wouldn’t survive if I fought back again?
People love to say they’d never stay. That they’d pack a bag and leave the second a man raised his hand.
And I used to be one of them.
But fear doesn’t just whisper.
