Freedom Writers Diary Book 소설 & 이야기

Please don't be too upset…] How could I not be upset? All my friends, working together with my husband, kept the affair from me. Even Winton, who was just an old friend from college, knew, but I had no idea. I even posted pictures of us looking happy on social media. Didn't they find it ironic when they liked those posts? Then, my phone buzzed with a new message. Winton had shared a post with me. I clicked on it and saw that it was from a blogger who documented her daily life.

We were both willing to do whatever it took to stay on top—and Tessa was about to find that out. She was already asleep when I got home. I headed straight to my room and shut the door, then took out the thick, black-covered book from my drawer. People kept diaries to record moments. I kept a book filled with names—names of the people I had killed. ‘Chief Paul Barnes.’ I wrote it down in red ink, then closed the book and slid it back into the drawer.

"I understand, Perer. We are good friends. Aren't we?" "Yes, we are." "Good!" Henry acknowledged. "Now, tell me about this diary of yours you have been writing for almost a year now." “You want to hear all about it?” “Yeah! Tell me all about it.” "Well," I started, trying to bring my diary/book/memoir into a positive limelight, "the book I am writing is basically a diary. Inside it, are events of my life that I have recorded. Though, there are times I would like to see it as my memoir but I can't due to the nature of it. My book is not something you will see on every regular bookstore in the market. It is unique and addresses the reader in a way you have never seen before. I know you know it

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.

NDAs forced down throats of women who had been too afraid to speak. Ava rested her hand on the wall. For a second, she imagined the echoes inside. The women who once whispered truths into pens and paper, hoping someone would someday read them aloud. Don’t let them erase us. The voice in her head was her own. She walked back to her office and reopened a file she hadn’t touched in weeks a digital journal she’d started at the beginning of it all. She reread old entries. Some pages were tear-stained. Some defiant. All of them honest.

She wrote about holding a man’s hand while machines beeped and doctors avoided eye contact. She wrote about how it felt to lose everything in a moment, even though the unraveling had started long before. She didn’t write as a victim. She wrote as a witness. Each day, she wrote for two hours. No more. Then she closed her notebook and walked into the sun. Some days she cried. Others she laughed, remembering things she’d buried under the weight of survival. Lila seemed to sense it, offering hugs and drawings with hearts that said Mommy is sunshine.

My chest burned, my lungs screaming for air. I didn’t stop until my legs gave out. I collapsed against a cold stone wall, sliding down until I was curled in on myself, clutching the diary to my chest like it was the only thing holding me together. I pressed my forehead to my knees and cried silently, my body shaking uncontrollably. Not because they laughed. Not because they knew. But because the one person I had written about—the one person who had made me believe I could be more— Had heard everything. And done nothing.

“My press will be there. My people will film it clean. His statement dies the moment you speak.” Kris exhaled. “He will come.” Scott did not blink. “Yes.” Freeda stared at him, then at the paper. She hated that her life was now a sentence hidden in someone else’s documents. She hated that the only way to cut it was to use noise, cameras, and witnesses. She reached for a pen anyway. Winnie stepped in, palm hovering over Freeda’s hand, then stopped herself. “If you do this, you don’t get to freeze.”

I would be far away from here tomorrow, far away from all the pain, far away from all the sad memories here and most importantly far away from Adrien, I would finally put the past behind me. I got ready pretty early the next morning, excitement brewing in my chest. I put on a white floral dress with simple black sandals and my hair in a neat bun. As soon as my Uber driver informed me of his arrival, I was on my way to the airport, the feeling of freedom better than I ever expected. As I sat by the window in the airplane,I went over all the years I wasted trying to make Adrien love me, all the years spent in America, all for nothing. Not once did Adrien treat me nicely, not even for one day,

She brought out the book and gave it to him. “Come with me now,” Grim said when he saw that it was his diary she was reading. In the diary, he had written things he would never say outside. Where he had written some secrets. And she had read most of it. She followed him quietly, fearing that the smallest calm could upset whatever control he had left. She had read about how he had killed people undeserving of death but now she was deserving. The book had contained secrets about his weakness and Grim didn't look like was going to allow her to walk away with such secrets. She had lived a troubled life but this was such a lame way to go.