From Explosion to Happily Ever After

For months, I lived inside the wreckage.

Picking through debris.

Searching for truth in the ash.

Learning how devastation lodges in the body like shrapnel—

and how healing from covert narcissistic abuse isn’t a straight line,

but a slow unburying.

But something has changed.

The destruction is no longer the main character in my life.

I am.

The explosion still happened—

but now it’s just one part of a much larger story.

And what comes next?

Joy. Power. Peace.

Wild possibility.

Deep love—the kind that chooses me back.

Not because I fawn or earn it—

but because I am it.

I don’t need to rehash the war anymore.

I’m building the after.

Happily ever after isn’t a fairytale.

It’s mine.

Because I choose it to be.