The worst part wasn’t when they told me to go—it was how cleanly I fit into the space called “gone.” No seat, no stories, no trace; just a quiet, efficient erasure, like dragging my name to the trash and emptying it without a second glance. I thought I’d shatter without them, that I’d claw at the edges of the life they’d barred me from. But the door clicked shut, and instead of begging, I felt something in my chest sit down for the first time in years, as if exhaustion had finally outrun loyalty and collap… Continues…
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