Unbroken Author Novels & Stories

"Luna Eva! Hang in there!" Before the biting cold could consume me completely, Liam hauled me out of the water. The universal red antidote coursed down my throat, and the burning fire that had raged through my abdomen vanished instantly. I had survived. Liam had risked everything to bring me to a hidden safehouse. I lay there for three days. The red antidote gradually restored my strength, easing the poison's grip on me. However, some things were gone forever.

"I was disabled from birth, but my parents still loved me and took great care of me. And one day, they died while protecting me from a man who broke into my house. I was sent to my grandmother's house to live with her but..she, too, gave her life for me. Everyone thought I was unlucky and better off dead than to let others die for me. I remember almost getting strangled to death by my uncle because he blamed me for my grandmother's death. At her funeral, I met the director. He was a close friend of hers and he brought me to stay here." She finished her story and stared at me with a smile, "What about you?"

I used to think strength meant standing tall no matter what, but now I know it’s about learning to stand again after you’ve fallen, even when you don’t want to. People see you smile and assume you’ve healed. They don’t see the weight you carry in silence — the ghosts you tuck behind every laugh, the memories that never fade no matter how many years pass. Twenty-six years since the night that stole everything from me, and I can still hear it sometimes — the shattering glass, the screams, the gunshots. I can still smell the gunpowder in the air.There are things you don’t ever forget. You just learn to live around them.

"What do you gain?" "Nothing. Everything." I moved to the window beside her. "I've been where you are. Broken. Controlled. Used as a weapon. Someone helped me. Now I help others. That's how it works." "What if we can't be fixed? What if we're too broken?" "Then we learn to live broken. Find strength in the cracks. Build something new from the pieces." I met her eyes. "You're not alone. None of you are. Not anymore."

"Home was the feeling of being enough even when you are broken. Home was the quiet room where she could finally say the words out loud without being afraid of the consequences." As I wrote the last sentence I felt a hot tear fall onto the paper and it made the ink of the word broken smudge a little bit. I stopped and I stared at the page and I realized that I was not just writing a story for a class. I was writing my own life and I was seeing it clearly for the first time. I was the girl in the room and I was the one who had survived the abuse and the loss. I felt a sob catch in my throat and I dropped the pen onto the table with a small click.

Like a caterpillar or butterfly , she was beautiful and amazing when you looked closely . One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friend tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land

I took the mic, glancing at the rows of people like friends, editors, readers… and somewhere in the back, Joaquin. “I used to think stories had to be perfect to matter,” I began. “That characters needed to be fearless, flawless, larger than life. But now I know… it’s the broken parts that make them human. The fear, the doubt, the courage to stay anyway. That’s what makes a story worth telling.” Applause rippled through the room. My chest tightened, not from nerves, but gratitude. When I stepped down, Jessy hugged me so tightly I nearly lost my breath. “You did it! You didn’t even cry!”

None of us ever did but there was a stubbornness inside me that would learn to be brave because the alternative, living small and quiet, denying this made me feel like a coward. I didn’t want a life where the best of me was locked behind a door I refused to open. Emily slid into the chair beside me and leaned her head on my shoulder. It was a small, human alignment, it was undramatic and perfect. For the first time since the office, I felt like the pieces might fit. “Then,” she murmured, “let’s try. And when it hurts, we tell each other.” “We tell each other,” I agreed. “We don’t let anyone else tell our story for us.”

" As I finished speaking, I heard gasps from the crowd surrounding me. The series of revelations was almost too much for the spectators to process. "So Mr. Smith isn't the person we thought he was. It's understandable how he would treat his wife's family poorly after being betrayed like that, isn't it?" "Oh, poor child. Isn't his son only a year old?"

The wait wasn't over yet and this time it would be Nikaulas at the short end of this excruciating torture. .................. Please reward the book with gems for more updates.