THE LIFE I MADE FOR MYSELF

As I lay in my room, the nurse my stepmother had called tended to my wounds. The treatment was far from gentle, but I was grateful for any relief from the pain. I didn't expect the best, and I wasn't going to get it. All I wanted was something to take the edge off, to make the pain more bearable.

You might think that I would be lost in my pain, consumed by it, but that's not true. My pain is my cure. It's a strange thing to say, I know, but it's what I believe. If you can control your pain, it will make you stronger. It will reach a point where you become immune to it, emotionally. It will become your escape, your guiding force.

It's not something I would wish on anyone, but it's what I've learned to live with. My stepmother's cruelty has taught me that there's no gain without pain. I have to endure whatever she throws at me if I want to survive, if I want to win.

I remember when I was seven, my dad was still alive. I heard a news story about a young boy who had committed suicide. I didn't understand it then, I thought he was a coward, that he had given up. But now I see it differently. He didn't want to die, he just wanted to stop the pain. He couldn't bear it anymore.

Sometimes I feel the same way. I want to scream, to cry out to the world, to beg someone to save me. But it's only my soul that weeps, and there's no way to comfort it. A part of me withers and dies, leaving a scar on the part that survives.

People say that pain fades with time, that it will eventually go away. But I don't think that's true. My pain has become a part of me, a part of my upbringing. It's my companion, my strength, and my growth. It's what drives me, what pushes me to keep going, even when everything seems hopeless.

I know it sounds strange, but it's the truth. My pain is what makes me, me. It's what shapes me, challenges me, and guides me towards growth and transformation. It's not something I would wish on anyone, but it's what I have, and it's what I'll use to survive.

As I walked out of the school building, I was surprised to see my uncle standing by his car, waiting for me. I hadn't seen him in years, and I had given up hope of ever seeing him again. He looked thin and worn out, as if he had been through a lot since he left.

"Uncle Jude?" I asked, my voice shaking with emotion.

"Angel? Is this you?" he replied, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.

I stood there, frozen in shock, as he walked towards me and engulfed me in a warm hug. "I'm here, Princess. I'm here," he whispered, his voice filled with tears.

I burst into tears, uncontrollable tears, as I hugged him back. I had been lying to myself all this while, telling myself that I was strong and didn't need anyone. But the truth was, I was weak and scared, and I had been desperate for someone to turn to.

As we hugged, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I had been carrying this burden for so long, and it was finally okay to let it go. My uncle was here, and he would take care of me.

We pulled back, and I looked up at him, taking in the sight of his tired eyes and worn-out face. "You left me," I accused, my voice still shaking.

"I know, and I'm sorry, okay?" he replied, his eyes filled with regret. "I was going through a tough time, and I didn't know how to handle it. But I'm back now, and I promise I won't leave you again."

I looked at him, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all I saw was genuine remorse. "I miss you, Uncle," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I miss you too, my angel," he replied, his voice cracking with emotion. "And I promise you, I'm not going anywhere again. I'm back for good."

We hugged again, and this time, it felt like everything was going to be okay. My uncle was back, and he would take care of me. He would make sure that my stepmother didn't hurt me again.

As we walked to his car, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I was finally safe. My uncle would fight for me, and he would make sure that justice was served.

We drove to a nearby restaurant, and my uncle ordered food for us. I was starving, and I devoured the food in front of me. My uncle watched me, a mixture of sadness and anger on his face.

"Are you okay? You look so sick," he said, his voice filled with concern. "You're wearing a hoodie in this hot weather. You look like you're serving. I barely recognize you. Please tell me it's not what I'm thinking?"

He got up from his chair and came to me, raising my hoodie to see the scars on my shoulder. He was shocked, and he began to check my body for more signs of abuse. I was embarrassed, but I knew I had to tell him the truth.

As I told him everything that had happened since he left, he listened, his face growing darker with each passing minute. When I finished, he was crying, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm so sorry, angel," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I had no idea it was this bad. I'll make sure she pays for what she's done to you. I'll make sure she rots in jail."

I smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. My uncle was back, and he would take care of me. He would fight for me, and he would make sure that justice was served.

As we hugged again, I knew that everything was going to be okay. My uncle was here, and he would never let me down again.