They say, "You handle things so well," and I stay quiet. Because it's easier than explaining what strength really looks like. They don't see me on the cold floor, arms wrapped around myself, shaking so hard it feels like my bones might break. They don't hear the sobs I crush into my hands, terrified of making a sound, because if anyone heard, I'd have to explain something that has no words. In that silence, I beg God to make it stop, to take away the pain that's sunk so deep my body aches from carrying it. They see survival. I feel myself breaking. And the worst part is realizing no one's coming to save me, I have to stand up and live like this anyway.