Novel & Cerita Unbroken Author

"After successfully extracting his revenge, he never went back to the slaughterhouse. Santiago lived in the streets, doing all kinds of illegal things to survive. Until he met this prominent and powerful man." "Maxfords." "That's right. the Maxfords took him in, trained him, and he became an effective assassin. At the age of fifteen or sixteen, he already have his bungalow house. His saving his money, keeping it on a hidden spot inside his house. Because, he wanted a better life. But, his heart was as cold as ice after everything that h experienced in his life. That's until he met a woman, and fell in love. She taught Santiago to have hope, to feel. He wanted to keep her safe, and to have a

I said, my voice softening, “he got drunk and forgot to lock the door. I don’t know how I found the strength, but I ran. I ran for hours through the forest, barefoot and terrified he’d catch me. That’s when I stumbled into Marco and his mother. They took me in, nursed me back to health, and helped me find my family.” I let out a shaky breath. “But the scars, Ferris, they never fully healed. I still wake up some nights hearing his voice, feeling his touch. I... I’m broken.” “You’re not broken,” Ferris said fiercely, his hands cupping my face. His touch was tender, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “Elise, you’re the strongest person I know. What you endured—what you survived—it doesn’t make

The shelves had been scattered around and books were flying all around the small space. My left leg was stuck under one of the shelves and i had to manage and pull it off in an awkward position with just two of my hands until my leg was free and i could feel the enormous pain but that did not stop me from finding the book. I had been searching while struggling with a broken foot for a book that held the rest of my future, and when i finally found it, i was completely shattered. I did not want to cry, i could not, all along i told myself i was iron woman, made of steel and nothing would break me. Nothing could.

"Yeah. And because I was an orphan, I think he took pity on me. But I genuinely loved him, Zeenah. I loved him more than words can say. And now, I'm going to get him back while you go back to Abubakar." At the mention of Abubakar's name once more, the door flung open and he walked in as confident as he can, a cynical smile on his face. "Hello, dear wife." * Hello everyone. Is my culture that bad to read? Lol, I feel like that's the case, hence the reason I'm not getting any review abiut the book or Chapters. However, despite all that, I hope you're enjoying the bok and that one day, I'll get to know your thoughts regarding the book. Thank you!

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “How could I not be bitter?” I snapped before I could stop myself. The words rushed out, fueled by months of fear I’d been burying deep inside my chest. “After everything I’ve been through, after everything I lost, you expect me to just trust anyone again? You expect me to just allow someone into my life like nothing ever happened?” My voice trembled, but I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. “You know what it took for me to stand again,” I continued, my eyes burning as I stared at him. “You know how broken I was. And now you bring another woman into my space and tell me not to be bitter?”

Authors live and breathe by your words, and your thoughts help other readers find books that might change their lives the way this one changed mine. If you're currently walking through your own devastation, ehether that's grief, betrayal, heartbreak, or just the quiet desperation of feeling lost, please know: you're not alone. Your story isn't over. The most beautiful chapters might be waiting just ahead. Don't give up. Don't quit on love. Don't stop believing that broken things can become breathtaking if they're not toxic or life-threatening. Because they can. You can. Thank you for reading. Thank you for believing. Thank you for being part of this journey. Thank you for subscribing, unlock

He fulfilled all of my dreams to creating a family together, the realization burnt more than even fire could. My heart wrenched into two. If not more than anything I wanted to have a child with Lyssa. It was nothing more but a shattered dream. This love story was messy. It was everything but; sweet and lasting. There was no beautiful ending. Right from the very beginning, there were lots of hurdles, lot of heartbreak, lot's of pain. It was going to end that same way. I felt strangely comforted tho by her words, she could never regret us. No matter how broken this love was, no matter how messy and painful it was.

I sat down on the living room floor, right in the middle of it all, and opened the envelope. Inside were photos of Noah. Pictures his school had mailed. His soccer games. His birthday. His quiet smile. I touched his face with my fingertips and felt a sob catch in my throat. So much time had been lost. To men who lied. To women who envied. To wars I didn’t start but had to finish. For what? For survival? For pride? Or because I couldn’t bear to be seen as the woman who got broken and stayed broken? I don’t know how long I stayed there.

The enormity of my actions and the resulting grief cast a shadow over my soul, and I swore that I would never again allow myself to love or be loved. As I ran, the memories of my mother's gentle touch and my sister's infectious laughter faded into the distance, replaced by the overwhelming guilt and shame that would come to define my existence. At that moment, I became Jason the Broken, a man forever haunted by the tragic consequences of a single, devastating night.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and looked at my reflection. Puffy eyes. Pale skin. My lips were cracked and dry. I looked like someone who’d been run over by life and then reversed on for good measure. I didn’t bother with makeup. No point pretending I had it together. Downstairs, the house felt like a shell. My house. The one Damian and I bought after everything I’ve been through. And now here I was, being broken all over again. I made coffee, not because I wanted it, but because it was routine. I needed something normal this morning. Something to hold on to. I didn’t even drink it. Just held the mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers.