They told me I was safe now, that the men who traded me like a broken object could never touch me again, but the word safe feels too fragile to hold. The family that found me—dark suits, sharp eyes, whispers heavy with power—say I belong to them now, not as property but as someone worth protecting. They bring me food, warmth, and silence when I tremble, yet every creak of a door, every sudden laugh, makes my heart slam against my ribs as if I’m still waiting to be sold again. I want to believe them when they promise I’ll heal, but the shadows of my past cling too tightly, and even in their guarded mansion, I wonder if I’ll ever stop being afraid.