After that day, I found myself wanting to escape from him even more. It wasn't just a fleeting reaction anymore—I knew I couldn't endure it any longer. The feeling of being controlled, suffocated, and constantly hurt had gone far beyond what I could tolerate. I started bringing up divorce, no longer hesitating, no longer trying to convince myself to stay.
But the moment I said it, his entire family reacted. The insults came immediately, followed by rigid, suffocating arguments. They told me that as a woman, I had to endure. That every marriage was like this. That difficulties were normal and not a reason to leave. They used every possible excuse to push me back into the same place—the place where I was expected to stay silent and endure.
But this time, I didn't hear a single word.
I no longer believed in any of it.
I didn't want to hear that women had to sacrifice, had to tolerate everything. I didn't see those things as right anymore. I only knew one thing—if I stayed, I would lose myself completely. And I didn't want my life to pass like that.
The next day, he came home drunk. The smell of alcohol filled the room, his eyes out of control. The moment he stepped inside, he came straight at me. No reason, no warning. He started hitting me.
Everything happened too fast.
I couldn't react, couldn't dodge. I could only endure the chaos. He didn't stop. He said things that made my entire body go cold—threats, words I never thought someone could say. He said he would kill me, and his voice didn't sound like anger—it sounded real.
No one in the house stopped him.
Or maybe no one wanted to.
Everything happened right in front of them, yet no one stepped in.
The fear I felt this time was different. Bigger. Clearer. It wasn't just fear of being hurt anymore—it was the fear of losing everything. I realized that if I stayed, there might come a day when I wouldn't even have the chance to leave.
That moment of desperation took away all hesitation.
I stopped thinking about trying harder.
Stopped thinking about enduring more.
I only knew one thing—
I had to leave.
No matter what.
I had to divorce him.
Not because I wanted a better life—
but because I didn't want to keep living in fear.
That night was very late. Everything around me was quiet, but inside, I wasn't. My hands were still shaking. My mind wouldn't settle. I picked up my phone and looked at a number I hadn't called in a very long time.
I hesitated.
There were too many thoughts.
I wondered if I should call.
I was afraid of disturbing him.
Afraid I didn't have the right to reappear in his life like this.
Afraid everything would become more complicated.
But in the end, I stopped thinking.
I just wanted to hear his voice.
I just wanted to know if he was still there.
I just wanted to see if this number still belonged to him.
I pressed call.
My heart was racing.
Every second felt long.
I didn't know if he would answer.
I didn't know what I would say if he did.
He picked up.
I couldn't speak right away. My throat tightened. Everything I wanted to say got stuck inside me. Only a few quiet, broken breaths escaped.
"Hello…"
His voice came through—still the same, calm and steady. But this time, I could hear something else. Attention. As if he was listening carefully to every small sound from my side.
"Is that you…"
I still couldn't answer.
"Are you okay?"
I couldn't respond. I tried to hold myself together, but the more I tried, the harder it became.
"I'm here… If you need me…"
He didn't finish the sentence, as if he was holding something back. I knew he wanted to ask more, to say more—but he didn't cross that line.
I took a breath, forcing my voice to stay steady.
"I'm okay."
A familiar sentence.
But this time, it sounded weaker than ever.
"I… I just called to see if you're still using this number."
It wasn't the truth.
I just didn't dare to say what I was going through.
I didn't dare to pull him into my life.
I didn't dare to let him know how bad things had become.
He was silent for a moment.
He didn't ask more.
Didn't push.
He just stayed on the line, making sure the call didn't end—as if as long as I was still there, he wouldn't leave.
And in that moment, I realized something clearly.
He was still the same.
He didn't break into my life.
Didn't interfere.
Didn't force anything.
Didn't cross any boundaries I hadn't allowed.
He simply stayed there—quietly.
But enough for me to know that if I ever needed him,
he would still be there.
Message of Chapter 28
Some people love you without interfering in your life, without breaking your choices—yet they are always there, waiting quietly, so that whenever you turn back, you can still find them.