Echoes of Pain

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...In shadows of the past, I dwell...

...Where memories of pain still linger well...

...A childhood marred by darkness deep...

...A heart that once was broken, now asleep...

...But in the light, a glimmer shines...

...A children's laughter, a gentle sign...

...Of hope reborn, of love anew...

...A chance to heal, to start anew...

Selin:

The room was alive with laughter and the cheerful sounds of kid playing. Amidst the excitement, I heard Savash exclaim, "Yayy, goal!" His eyes sparkled with the thrill of competition, the joy of scoring in our makeshift soccer game in the backyard. Just a few feet away, Danial tried to maintain his composure but couldn’t hide the hint of a grin curling on his lips. “Omg, I lost!” he said in mock despair, his tone dripping with playful exaggeration. The sight of them—it warmed my heart. In that moment, as I watched them banter back and forth, I felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. They looked so adorable like this. I couldn’t help but think that I finally had a perfect family.

But then, just as quickly, a shadow crossed my mind, and the warmth of the moment was chased away by the ghosts of my past. Memories flooded back, jagged pieces of a painful history I had tried so hard to bury deep within myself.

Flashback:

I was only eleven years old when the ground beneath my feet fell away. My mother, the one person in my life who radiated love and kindness, was gone. The day she passed away still felt surreal—a haze of confusion and sorrow that I could barely comprehend. Even now, the reason for her death remained an enigma, a dark, swirling mystery that tormented me. All I knew was that shortly after her funeral, my father’s grief transformed into a bitterness that seemed to consume him.

In the depths of his anguish, he found a target—me. He blamed me for her death, often saying that if I had been a better child, she would still be alive. Those words cut through me like a knife, leaving scars that would take years to heal. I was just a child; how could I be responsible for something I didn’t understand?

When my father married Sofia, a woman he had known since his college days, I clung to the fragile hope that perhaps things would change. Maybe there was a chance for a new beginning, for love to fill the void left by my mother’s absence. But Sofia was not the answer I had been seeking. To my horror, I learned that she had always despised my mother—resentment fueled by jealousy over a love that once was. She had been waiting in the wings, and now, having married my father, she unleashed her own cruelty upon me.

Instead of compassion or kindness, I encountered a mercilessness that felt insatiable. With each passing day, my world shrank further under the weight of their scorn. It was more than just beatings; it was an assault on my very spirit, a constant reminder that I was unworthy of love, that I didn’t matter. Our home became a prison brimming with fear, a place where the concept of safety had all but vanished.

I lost faith in love, and those who claimed to care. I grew to despise men, convinced that all they wanted was to exploit and degrade. My heart hardened against the world, making it easier to believe that cruelty reigned supreme. I existed in isolation, surrounded by two people who wielded their power over me with glee.

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