It wasn’t fiction. It wasn’t exaggerated.
It was real.
The phone calls.
The breathing.
The threat whispered as if it belonged there.
His name was Donald.
And yes–he meant every word.
But here’s the thing: I survived him.
Not just physically.
I survived the part that tries to silence you long after the danger has passed.
I share this because someone out there is still trying to normalize it.
Still trying to decide if what happened to them “counts.”
Still trying to survive the echoes of someone else’s control.
Let me say this clearly:
If your peace was stolen, it counts.
If you are scared, confused, doubted, or silenced—it counts.
And if you are still here?
You are already braver than you know.
My book is called “The Unforgiven Walk Alone.”
But the truth is, you’re never truly alone.
Not when we rise.
Not when we remember.
Not when we speak.
