I don’t just grieve what happened to me. I grieve who I might have been. The version of me that moved through the world without flinching. The one who didn’t confuse love with survival. The one who felt safe enough to unfold instead of brace. She exists somewhere— not as a fantasy, but as a possibility that never got the conditions to grow. And some part of me is still standing at the edge of that life, wondering who she would’ve been.