Honey

I stare into the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the girl looking back at me. Shadows hollow my cheeks, my skin is painted in bruises, and my green eyes—once bright, once full of something worth saving—are empty. I don’t know when they turned lifeless. Maybe they always were.

The webbed fractures in the glass remind me of my own body. Shattered. Irreparable.

But tonight, none of it matters.

Tonight, I’m getting out.

My fingers shake as I press them to my reflection. I expect to feel something, some sort of connection to the girl staring back at me. But all I feel is the cold glass.

I drop my hand.

The basement is silent except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. I know the sound better than my own heartbeat. It marks the hours, the minutes, the seconds until he comes back. The routine is always the same—he drinks, he comes home, he opens the door, he beats me to a pulp, he rapes me, he leaves me to rot.

Not tonight.

I lower myself onto my hands and knees, my body screaming in protest, but I don’t care. Beneath the cot in the corner, hidden in the darkness, is my salvation.

Three years.

Three years of scraping, clawing, digging.

Three years of pretending I was broken beyond repair while I carved out my way to freedom with nothing but a rusted spoon.

I grab it now, my fingers wrapping around the familiar shape. My heart slams against my ribs as I shove it into the dirt and scrape. Over and over, with everything I have left.

The ground is softer than I remember, the tunnel nearly finished. Just a little more.

I dig faster.

My nails split. Blood seeps into the dirt, but I don’t stop.

I don’t stop because I can feel it. The shift in the air. The cold breath of the outside world kissing my fingertips.

I choke back a sob.

Not yet.

Crying is for little girls. I stopped being one a long time ago.

I force my arm through the opening, my entire body trembling as I claw at the last layer of soil keeping me trapped in this hell. The moment my fingers break through, a rush of night air swallows me whole.

Fresh. Crisp. Free.

A sob threatens again, but I swallow it down like I do everything else.

I don’t know what waits for me beyond this basement.

I don’t know if I’ll survive out there.

But I do know one thing.

Even if I die, it’ll be better than this. At least then I will be with my true father in Heaven.

I run.

Every inch of my body protests, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Cold air slices through me, chilling the sweat on my skin, but I barely register it. My legs feel like lead, every step sending agony through muscles that have barely known movement. The wounds on my body scream, my feet are raw, and the thin fabric of the stolen clothes—small enough to fit a child, which is the saddest part—clings to my blood and filth.

But none of that matters.

Because for the first time in my life, I can feel the wind on my skin.

Fresh air rushes into my lungs, burning with the force of it. My chest tightens, but it’s not from fear—it’s something else, something so foreign it takes me a moment to understand it.

I’m crying.

Not because of the pain, not because my body is giving out beneath me.

I’m crying because this is the first time I have ever felt the night air.

The first time I have ever breathed without walls caging me in.

The first time I have ever been free.

A sob rips from my throat, and I push harder, faster.

I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care. I just need distance. I need space between me and the place where I died a long time ago. The place where a scared little girl was buried beneath bruises and silence.

The stars blur above me. I don’t know if it’s from the tears or the exhaustion or the fact that I have never seen them before.

But I feel them.

And I feel her.

Mama.

She’s here. I know it.

I can’t remember her voice, can’t remember what she smelled like, but I know she’s here. I feel her in the wind that urges me forward, in the warmth in my chest that shouldn’t exist after everything I’ve endured.

She’s celebrating with me.

I let out a broken laugh between my sobs, letting the feeling carry me further. Another chain breaks. The weight on my soul lightens.

I keep running.

Until I can’t.

My legs finally give out, and I stumble, crashing into the ground behind a thick tree. The bark is rough against my back, but I don’t care.

I made it.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how far I’ve come. But I made it out.

My chest heaves, my lungs screaming for relief, but all I feel is glory.

Tonight, my life changes.

Tonight, I live.

But first Maybe I sleep.

Something nudges my arm.

I groan, my body stiff, every muscle screaming in protest. My eyes flutter open, the sunlight blinds my eyes. My eyes that have never seen sunlight and for a brief moment, I forget where I am. Then, it all rushes back—running, the pain, the taste of freedom on my tongue.

And now… a little old lady staring down at me with a knowing smile.

“Come on, baby girl. I’ve been waiting on you,” she says, her voice warm and scratchy, like a record that’s been played too many times.

My entire body jerks back before I even realize it, pressing myself against the rough bark of the tree. Fear crashes over me like a tidal wave.

No.

I didn’t just escape—didn’t fight, bleed, and run—just for this woman to drag me back to him. My heart slams against my ribs as I force my aching body to move, trying to scramble away.

She sees it—the panic in my eyes, the way I’m coiled like a trapped animal—and instead of reaching for me, she just sighs and slowly lowers herself onto the ground with a grunt.

“You may need to help me up here in a little while,” she mutters, stretching out her legs. “But first, let me tell you a story.”

I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just stare at her, every nerve in my body on edge.

She doesn’t seem to mind.

“I have seen you in my dreams, Honey.”

The sound of my name on her lips freezes me.

“I don’t know you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“I know.” She tilts her head, studying me like she already knows everything about me. “But God does.”

I scoff, shaking my head. She’s insane.

“I ain’t crazy, child. I know what I saw,” she continues, like she can read my thoughts. “God told me you was coming. Told me ten years ago. Said when the time came, you’d be reluctant.”

I blink, my stomach twisting.

She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head as she looks out at the woods like she can see something I can’t. “Been walking these woods every day, around this time, for ten years, waiting on you. Because He told me you’d be here—hurt, alone, and needing someone to help you stand again.”

The lump in my throat is unbearable.

I have struggled with faith mainly because I was never taught to have it but through all the torment, I decided to believe that there is a place where our loved ones go a place where a true loving father is, a safe haven. But the way she’s looking at me, like she’s known me all along, makes something deep in my chest ache.

“You’d need me,” she says simply, as if it’s a fact.

She reaches out and grabs my hands before I can react. The movement is quick, and I flinch hard, my whole body locking up.

She sees it.

She doesn’t let go. Doesn’t loosen her grip, either.

“I see your pain,” she says, her voice softer now. “I don’t know what you’ve endured. I ain’t supposed to know. But I know your freedom relies on me.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to believe her.

But the weight of her hands on mine is gentle, not forceful. She isn’t trying to take me anywhere.

She’s just… here.

“You got two choices, baby girl,” she continues. “You can sit here with no plan, no food, no way to clean them wounds, and wait for your past to catch up to you...”

Her grip tightens, just slightly.

“Or you can come with me. I’ll clean you up, bandage your wounds, and make sure you have all the resources to get far, far away from here.”

The wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves, and for the first time since I ran, I let myself breathe.

Maybe she’s crazy.

Or maybe... just maybe, this is the next chain breaking.

I swallow hard and look into her wise, patient eyes.

And for the first time in my life...

I choose to trust.