"She stopped letting the wound be louder than the wisdom it contained." The wound was loud. For years. It had things to say about trust and love and what was safe and what was not. About what she deserved. About what was possible. About whether opening up again was worth the risk. The wisdom was quieter. Underneath. Patient. Waiting for the wound to say everything it needed to say. And then offering something else. The lesson. The growth. The clarity that only comes from surviving something that could have finished you. She turned down the wound. Turned up the wisdom. And moved differently.