That night, I was inside the house when I heard him come back. His voice echoed from the living room. I wasn't trying to listen, but the words still reached me. He was talking to his parents.
His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough.
He said he wanted a divorce.
I froze for a second. I didn't understand why he would suddenly say that, but right after, I realized I didn't care about the reason anymore. There was only one feeling inside me—
relief.
A lightness, as if something that had been suffocating me for so long was finally about to break.
But the moment he finished speaking, the atmosphere in the house shifted.
His parents turned toward me.
The insults began immediately.
No questions. No attempt to understand. Just blame.
I stood there, silent. I didn't want to argue anymore. I didn't want to explain anything. I just wanted time to move faster—to end everything as soon as possible.
But their words became harsher.
It wasn't just blame anymore. It turned into attack.
His mother began speaking indirectly, dragging in stories about other families, but every word was clearly aimed at me. She said people like me deserved this, that being treated this way was normal, that even being beaten was understandable.
That was when I couldn't stay silent anymore.
Not because I wanted to argue—
but because I couldn't accept it.
I spoke.
My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.
I hadn't even finished my sentence when he threw a glass at me.
It cut through the air, passing right by my face.
Just a little closer—
and it would have hit me directly.
In that moment, I didn't feel fear the way I used to.
I felt something else.
Something that had been building for too long.
I was done enduring.
I spoke again.
Everything I had been holding in for so long poured out at once. The frustration, the pain, the things I had tried to ignore—I said all of it. I didn't think about the consequences anymore. I didn't care how much worse things could get.
And then—
he lunged at me.
This time, it wasn't the same as before.
It wasn't just anger.
It was an explosion.
But I didn't step back.
For the first time, I fought back.
I didn't retreat.
I didn't endure.
I resisted.
Everything became chaos—shouting, crashing sounds, movement all blending together.
His father rushed in, grabbed my phone, forced me down, held me in place so his son could keep hitting me.
But I didn't let go of the phone.
Not because I needed it—
but because it was the only thing I could hold onto in that moment.
There was no fear left.
Only resistance.
Maybe because I had learned martial arts before, I was able to fight back to some extent. Not completely overwhelmed—but still not enough.
Their strength was greater.
I was pushed, restrained, overpowered.
Everything spiraled out of control.
Outside, the rain was pouring.
Heavy, violent.
It slammed against the roof, against the ground, relentless—like a storm mirroring everything happening inside that house.
I couldn't tell anymore what was the sound of rain—
and what was the sound of people.
In the end, they threw me out.
No hesitation.
No words.
Just pushed me out—
as if I had never belonged there at all.
I stepped into the rain.
Within seconds, I was soaked.
The cold water hit my skin, but I barely felt it.
Behind me was the house I had just left.
In front of me—
a dark road with nowhere to go.
I ran toward the back of the house.
I didn't know where I was going.
I didn't know what to do.
I only knew one thing—
I could not go back.
Not anymore.
I was completely alone.
In a place that wasn't my home.
No family.
No one to turn to.
No one to rely on.
I stood in the rain, my mind empty.
I didn't know who to call.
I didn't know who could make me feel safe.
And then—
I thought of him.
Not because I had planned it.
Not because I had decided anything beforehand.
But because out of all the choices I had—
he was the only one who came to mind.
My hands were shaking as I held the phone.
The screen was wet from the rain.
I pressed call.
That night, the rain was relentless.
The wind howled.
Water flooded the streets.
It was a storm—
not just outside,
but in my life.
He picked up.
I couldn't say much.
Just a few broken sentences.
My voice mixed with the rain, with my uneven breathing.
He didn't ask many questions.
He only said one thing—
"I'm coming."
Message of Chapter 30
There are moments in life when you have nothing left to hold onto—
and the first person you think of is the one your heart has never truly let go of.