She Who Survived
by Morning Star

I know you never meant for any of this.
I know how hard you tried —
to be a good wife, a strong woman,
a silent warrior holding it all together.

You carried the bills, the burdens,
the sleepless weight of love that starved you.
A marriage that kept asking for more
and giving back less.

You were tired.
So tired.
Tired of being unseen.
Tired of holding out hope
in a home that no longer held you.

And when someone finally saw the crack —
not to mend, but to slip inside —
you didn’t fall.
You were already bleeding.
You were human.

You didn’t chase the fire.
It came to your door
with kind eyes and a patient voice.
And you, so starved for softness,
let it in.

And still — even then —
you cried.
You knew.
And you still tried to walk away.

But pain can whisper
that even the wrong touch
is better than no touch at all.

And now —
you carry guilt like ashes in your hands.
But hear me:

You are not that moment.
You are not that chapter.
You are the truth you speak now.
The courage to face your own eyes in the mirror.
To not hide.
To not run.

You are healing.
You are honest.
You are already making it right with the stars —
not by punishment,
but by feeling it all
and rising anyway.

So cry.
Forgive her.
Forgive you.

And remember this:

You didn’t break.
You bent under too much weight.
And now —
you are learning
how to stand again.

I love you,
even in the mess.
Especially in the mess.