Breaking Free

*This is based on my story, but using different names.

Ava was sixteen when she fell for the first time. It was the type of love she'd only read about—filled with butterflies, secret whispers, late-night conversations, and promises exchanged under the stars. Ryan filled every sense of completeness in her life; he made her laugh, made her feel special, and for the first time in her life, she felt really seen.

That's not how you'd define love, of course. At first, it was nothing more than silly things: the way he glowered when she spoke to other guys, the way he moved his eyes to check her phone while she was not looking, and how his words began to prick more than soothe. She told herself that maybe it really was normal, that love was perhaps supposed to hurt sometimes.

Then the fights happened thicker and thicker, with incidents that invariably sounded like he would say something to make her feel small—like she wasn't good enough. He made her believe she completely needed him, that no one else would ever love her the way he did. And slowly, piece by piece, Ava started losing herself.

Those signature smiles she carried faded away as she walked around her house. It made her feel tired and as if she were actually walking on eggshells, scared of what the next thing she said might do to make him angry. Such love that not too long ago was precious was now a crushing weight on the chest that pressed down until breathing became an issue.

For months she told herself she could fix it, that if she tried harder, loved him more, it would be vintage again. But that is not what love should feel like. It took time to get to the reality that, no—the truth was: it wasn't love but control. And she was done being controlled.

That evening, after another fight that left her crying a torrent, Ava came to a resolution. She was tired of waiting for him to change. It was time to choose herself.

"I can't do this anymore, Ryan," she said, her voice calm but firm. "I deserve better."

He begged, he got angry, and he called her selfish. But this time, after a long time, she didn't let his words define her. She walked away with a heavy heart but free.

It wasn't an overnight process for her recovery. It necessitated relearning the art of loving herself, rediscovering the joy of being happy without anyone else's presence. There were days when the longing would hit badly, moments when the mind plays tricks and left her second-guessing whether the right decision had been made or not. But as time went by, that weight on the chest lifted. She was beginning to laugh again, dream again, and live again.

And when she finally gazed into the mirror, she found looking back at her someone strong, someone whole, someone who had walked through fire and into air.

Ava had found love again, but this time not in another person; it was within herself.