You sit in the corner of your room, the pain from the last few hours burning on your skin. It was one of those days again – a moment when your ex took everything out on you, and you fell into a thousand pieces. You don’t know why he does it, but it’s always anger that he can’t control.

It’s been going on for so long. But today was worse than ever. Your body is covered in bruises, and your head feels numb. You’d hoped it would stop someday, but today, you had no chance to escape.

Things blurred as you lay on the floor, your hand on your head, the ringing in your ears. You feel weak and dizzy, but somehow you’re used to enduring pain. Then – by some miracle – you hear sirens. Your ex was so angry that he didn’t even notice you had left the house. And you, in a last desperate attempt to escape, ran out onto the street, where someone saw you and called the police.

Now you lie in the hospital, and the doctor examines you carefully. He asks if you want to say anything, but you shake your head. You don’t want to talk about it. It’s too painful, too humiliating. You’ve already lost so much. What difference would it make if you tell someone? No one would believe you, or it wouldn’t change anything anyway. The shame is greater than the pain that runs through your body.

But the doctor is different. He’s patient, calm, his eyes serious. You feel that he cares about you without saying it out loud. He keeps asking questions, not pushy, but gentle. It feels like he really wants to understand what happened to you, like he wants to know how he can help you, without pressuring you. There’s no judgment in his voice, just understanding.

“It must have been hard to carry all this alone,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. We can help you, if you want.”

A warm shiver runs down your spine. You feel something inside you open, something you’ve kept locked away for so long. It feels like the wall around your heart is slowly breaking down.