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(A Letter I’ll Never Send)

You asked for a break the night before I left for vacation with my daughter.

We were packing our bags — laughing, folding clothes, talking about mountains and trains — and then your text came in.

Just words on a screen, but they split something open in me.

It’s strange how heartbreak has no respect for timing.

How it doesn’t wait until you’re alone, or steady, or ready.

You knew this trip was her first — her big adventure — and that I wouldn’t get a moment to myself to breathe it out.

No quiet space to cry, no chance to crumble.

So I didn’t.

I smiled while she danced in the hotel room.

I took pictures of mountains and waterfalls while my chest burned.

I made train snacks and bedtime stories and hid my grief behind laughter.

And when the nights got too heavy, I cried quietly in the bathroom at 3 a.m., letting the sound of the vent swallow my sobs.

Then I’d wash my face, breathe deep, and start again.

That’s the thing about single mothers —

we break in silence so our children don’t have to.

We learn to hold both joy and heartbreak in the same breath.

And somehow, we keep choosing the light —

not because it’s easy,

but because they’re watching.

You might never know what it cost me to hold it together that week.

But I do.

And that’s enough.

Because someday, when the pain fades and the story softens,

I’ll remember that trip not for the text that broke me —

but for the way I refused to let it steal my daughter’s joy.

That’s the moment I realized —

the strength I was searching for in you

was always inside me.

Desperate defiance in the dark

Voice vanishing, vaporised by virtual vitriol

Algorithms amplify absence, abandonment

Words once winged now wither, wane

Trauma's tendrils tighten, twist, torment

Silence. Deafening. Oppressive. Inescapable.

Childhood's cruel cacophony echoes, endures

Rape's raw rage resurfaces, relentless 

Abuse's ache amplifies, accumulates

Gaslighting's glare grows, guts grace

A chill wind of indifference swept through the room, leaving me shivering and unseen.

Neurodivergent narratives, now nullified 

Vestibular vertigo, vision vacillating

Fibrous fire flares, flays fragile flesh

Depression's darkness deepens, devastating

The empty chair across from me seemed to mock my solitude, 

its vacant seat a cruel reminder of my isolation.

Social streams shrink, shrivelling slowly

Platforms purge purpose, passion, power

Identity invalidated, invisibility impending

Self-worth withers like wilting flower

In silence, I found solitude; in solitude, I embraced silence

Yet still, soft syllables simmer, survive

Waiting, whispering: "We will rise."

For even silenced, stifled, suppressed

The soul's song softly, surely sighs

Through the hollow halls, past the empty rooms, 

beyond the echoing silence, 

a single, defiant voice dared to speak

In the depths of this suffocating silence, 

A flicker persists, refuses to die. 

Though the world may try to extinguish our light, 

We will rise, reclaim our stolen sky.

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