The Glass Garden

There was a time when I believed love meant obedience—being quiet, small, safe. My parents called it care, but I learned that even gentle walls can cut deep. They said the world was too loud for me, that I was too soft for its storms. Maybe they were right—but no one told me that flowers can still grow in silence. When I met Arlen, I didn’t expect warmth. I didn’t trust it. Yet he looked at me as if I wasn’t broken, only waiting to bloom. He never asked me to change, to fit, or to prove that I deserved to be loved. Instead, he sat with me among the shattered glass, teaching me that light doesn’t hurt when it’s shared. Sometimes I still flinch when people raise their voices, when I hear the echo of old rules. But then I remember the garden—the way sunlight filters through the cracks, how it touches every petal, even the ones that once hid in shadow. This story isn’t about being rescued. It’s about finding the courage to open the door, to breathe, to love without fear. . You were never too much. You were simply waiting for someone to love you as you are—and for the moment you could love yourself the same way