Rewrite Our Love Story
The hands that once held me with love and care were the same hands that had handed me over to the darkness, to a life of servitude and sacrifice.
I remembered the words they had spoken to me, the words that had once filled my heart with hope and anticipation. "Love him," they had said. "Take care of him." But now, those words seemed like a cruel joke, a mockery of the reality I had been thrust into. The truth was, I was nothing more than a commodity to them, a means to an end. And he, the man I had called my husband, was nothing more than a puppet master, pulling the strings and manipulating me to his advantage.
Bab Populer