Freedom: My Book Of Firsts Mga Nobela at Kwento

Freedom is here, all on me. In the school corridors when I read those words, I could not help myself. I had this strange desire to put him in his place. But I also wanted to fulfill his call; I wanted to show him something he hadn’t seen before. Wait, I have not met him yet. Has he ever seen it? But he talks nice.

The anger burned inside me, but I could do nothing but stand there and watch their happiness unfold. I watched them live their lives, carefree and affectionate, until I was finally reborn. Nonetheless, I had everything figured out. There was nothing more important than investing in myself and contributing to my country.

LEAH My freedom began with a click and I still stuck on that click even if it felt good, it felt like a relief, but I couldn't keep myself in this position, I had just few hours before they come back, and I needed to get out of here quietly It was so soft I almost thought I imagined it. Just a quiet snick of metal giving way, but it roared through me like thunder. The first shackle was off. Three more to go, I took a deep breath not blinking an eye as I pushed further knowing my life depended on the outcome of my predicament.

All I knew was that I was probably going to be stuck with him for the rest of my life. However, things wouldn't stay peaceful and mundane for long. Soon, I ran into my first massive problem—money. Although Marley kept telling me that I didn't have to worry about it, I still told him seriously, "Marley, I want to have an equal relationship with you. I don't want to have to rely on you and leech off of you in this relationship." Marley just nodded silently, without a word. I recalled the times back in Crenia when I used to be the lead jewelry designer in Nolan Group. I still had some leftover design sketches from back then. I just didn't know if there'd be any potential market in Ferris for th

After completing the necessary paperwork, I returned home with them. Their home was modest but filled with warmth. The walls were adorned with childhood photographs, and my mother introduced each one to me. "This one was taken by your grandma just after you were born. This was from your first birthday." The story might have concluded, but my parents' love for me would endure for a lifetime.

I whispered to myself, “It is finished.” And for the first time in years, the words felt like freedom.

Because if I let go of hope, what would be left? Back home, I took the photo and placed it in a drawer. I refused to let it define the day. Instead, I went to my office, opened the manuscript I had abandoned months ago, and began to write. Words spilled out. Not about Daniel. Not about betrayal. But about freedom. About a woman who chose to rise anyway. Who built something beautiful from the ruins. Who fell in love again—not just with someone else, but with herself. It was fiction. But it was mine.

My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my pen. For the first time, I felt truly free.

That accident years ago had all been part of a plan I'd orchestrated with the stables. I lifted my child onto Acorn's back, and with the horse's triumphant whinny, we charged into a field of flowers. From that moment on, my life was mine to claim—riding through blooms, chasing freedom, and leaving the past behind.

From survival to thriving. The book would be hard. But it would be ours. And for the first time, telling the world felt like freedom instead of exposure.