I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

in my lap.

She didn’t rush me. She didn’t offer clichés.

She just said, “Tell me what home is like.”

And for the first time, I told the truth to someone who had the power to do something about it.

The deadbolt.

The dresser.

The threats.

The bruises.

My voice broke. My hands trembled. Tears slid down my face.

The clinician listened, expression steady.

When I continue reading …