Broken Mirror

The first thing Alyssa ever learned was how to be quiet.

Not polite quiet.

Not shy quiet.

The kind of quiet that keeps you alive.

In her house, words had consequences.

The wrong tone, the wrong look, the wrong breath - all could set off a storm.

So she learned to fold herself smaller, to swallow the noise, to stay invisible.

The mirrors in that house never told the truth.

They showed her what she was told to see - too much of one thing, not enough of another.

Ugly. Loud. Unwanted.

So she stopped looking.

She didn't know the difference between safety and silence back then.

She just knew that both felt like not being touched, not being noticed.

Until one night, when silence wasn't enough to save her.

When she learned that even stillness can be hunted.

Years later, when people said she was strong, she'd laugh quietly to herself.

Strength wasn't a choice; it was survival dressed in exhaustion.

But now - now she was learning something new.

That maybe the cracks in her weren't ruins.

Maybe they were the proof she'd survived.

And for the first time in her life, Alyssa didn't look away from her reflection.

She faced it - trembling, but unbroken.

Because silence had spoken long enough.

Now, it was her turn.