DISEASE

"When they can't see your worth, they try to trade your silence for their convenience."

The worst blow wasn't academic failure. It was hearing her mother whisper to an aunt, "We should marry her off. At least that way we don't have to feed a useless mouth."

Mun felt her knees weaken.

She wasn't even twenty. She had dreams. She had a voice, even if they didn't hear it.

A few days later, a man came to visit. He looked twice her age, with a calculating smile and eyes that undressed her soul. Her mother served tea, sweetened with shame.

Mun sat still, heart hammering. She wanted to run, to scream, to disappear.

But she just smiled politely. Because rebellion wasn't allowed.

Later that night, she lay curled on the floor, tears soaking her pillow, biting her fist to keep the sobs in. Her mother's words echoed in her head like a curse. "You're not good for anything. If someone's willing to take you, consider yourself lucky."

She wasn't a daughter to them anymore. She was an expense. A debt waiting to be settled.

But something deeper hurt more—the memory of once being cherished. Of being held. Of being loved, even if briefly.

She used to believe that her pain had purpose.

Now, she wasn't so sure.

---