They say, "You grew up so fast," and I smile. Because they don't know, I didn't have a choice. While everyone else was learning to live, I was learning to survive. I wasn't a kid, I was a shield, a secret-keeper, pretending everything was fine. They talk about childhood like it's a memory you can visit, but mine feels more like a blur of fear and pretending. I missed birthdays, laughter, peace, not because they weren't there, but because I was too busy holding my world from talling apart. People call it strength. I call it what was left after innocence was taken. Trauma didn't just steal my youth; it taught me how to live without it.