Let’s Talk About the Silence During Pregnancy

Pregnancy is often celebrated as a beautiful journey, but for many, it’s also a time of quiet isolation. It’s shocking how, during this transformative and vulnerable period, friends and family can go completely silent. The visits don’t happen. The calls to check in are rare. The genuine support you expect simply isn’t there.

But the real surprise comes after the baby arrives. Suddenly, everyone is eager. They demand to visit, they want pictures of the baby, and they act as though they were there for you all along. It’s heartbreaking to see how the focus shifts entirely to the baby, with little thought for the mother who endured the sleepless nights, the physical changes, and the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy alone.

It’s not just about the absence of visits or calls—it’s the message it sends. It’s as though the mother only matters when there’s a baby in her arms, not when she’s carrying life within her.

If you know someone who’s expecting, take a moment to reach out. A simple, “How are you feeling?” or “Can I drop by for a chat?” can mean the world. Pregnancy isn’t just about preparing for the baby—it’s about nurturing and supporting the person bringing that life into the world.

To the mothers reading this: You are seen, you are valued, and your journey matters. Whether the world shows up for you or not, remember your strength is unmatched.

Let’s start doing better—supporting not just the baby but the person who makes it all possible.

Bitten by the serpent I fed: betrayal of the hand that helped chapter 6: When kindness is rewarded with betraya: The Cost of Opening Our Home"

Welcoming Regina into our home was a decision driven by compassion and hope. She had been struggling, her dreams of continuing school crushed by her parents' refusal to support her after failing a subject twice. Her despair was evident, and I believed giving her a fresh start in our home, where she could help care for baby Emma, would be the support she needed to rebuild her life.

Regina was treated no differently than Ethan's own children. She enjoyed the same privileges: food, clothing, outings, and all the comforts of family life. I hoped this would show her love, stability, and a sense of belonging. Yet, from the very beginning, I sensed something was amiss. Despite the love and opportunities extended to her, Regina lacked gratitude and respect. Her attitude toward Ethan was often dismissive, her behavior toward the family cold and self-serving.

Her lack of respect extended to the household itself. One day, the backlight of our television burnt out—a costly repair that we could hardly afford at the time. Though it wasn’t entirely clear how it happened, Regina’s careless attitude toward our home and possessions made it easy to suspect her involvement. It didn’t end there. She also broke the soap holder in the bathroom, an unnecessary and avoidable inconvenience that further reflected her lack of care. It was clear she had no appreciation for the sacrifices we made to accommodate her.

She pretended to care for Emma, but her actions betrayed her true nature. When no one was around, the baby’s cries were met with harsh words, cruel glares, and neglect. My heart shatters at the thought of my innocent child enduring such treatment. But God’s hand was over Emma, shielding her from the darkness in Regina’s heart. Emma, a child of light, thrived despite Regina’s malice.

Regina’s presence in the house became a burden. She shirked responsibilities, faked illnesses, and refused to help with household chores. Instead, she indulged herself, spending her days glued to the TV or her phone. She would shout at Ethan’s son, monopolize the television, and act as though she ran the household. She made no effort to learn the dynamics of our family, instead prioritizing her desires over everyone else's.

A small yet deliberate act that showed her selfishness was how she ensured she always ate the pap cooked the previous night—knowing full well that Ethan preferred it for breakfast. It was these little actions, done with full knowledge of how they would inconvenience or hurt others, that revealed her character. Regina often raised her voice during arguments, even those that didn’t concern her, inserting herself into disagreements with a defiance that was disrespectful and disruptive.

Her lack of respect for boundaries was glaring—wearing inappropriate clothing in Ethan’s presence, asking for endless favors, and envying every kindness Ethan showed me. It was as though she wished to step into my life, to take my place.

Her heart was ugly, filled with jealousy, laziness, and deceit. She used our generosity as a stepping stone, her only motivation being financial gain to return to school. She had no intention of building a meaningful bond with Emma or the rest of the family. The spy cam revealed the depth of her betrayal: the disgust she harbored toward my child and the false persona she displayed. It was clear she had no love for us, only a desire to exploit our kindness for her own benefit.

Looking back, I sacrificed so much—our family’s peace, freedom, and happiness—to uplift someone who never appreciated it. I trusted her with my most precious treasure, my baby, and she betrayed that trust in ways I cannot forgive. Regina's betrayal is yet another painful lesson that not everyone you help will value your kindness.

But even in this heartbreak, I find strength. Emma remains a beacon of light, untouched by the shadows Regina tried to cast. And though I grieve the betrayal, I remind myself that love and kindness are not wasted—they define who I am, even when others fail to reciprocate.

The Burden of Unaddressed Issues in Our Lives

We live in a world that often seems ruthless, where the complexities of human experience are frequently brushed aside. Many individuals recognise the underlying problems that permeate both personal and societal realms, yet they choose to carry on as if everything is in order. This dissonance creates a façade that can be difficult to penetrate, leaving unresolved issues to fester beneath the surface.

The tendency to ignore significant matters stems from various factors, including fear of confrontation, societal pressures, and a desire for comfort. When individuals prioritise maintaining appearances over addressing uncomfortable truths, they inadvertently contribute to a cycle of emotional burden. This pattern not only affects personal well-being but also strains relationships, as the weight of unspoken grievances lingers in the air, unacknowledged and unresolved.

Forgiveness and the ability to move on become challenging when we are burdened by subjects left untouched. The human experience is inherently complex; we carry our past with us, and unaddressed issues can shape our daily lives in profound ways. The reluctance to confront these matters often leads to a sense of isolation and disconnection, as individuals struggle with feelings of frustration and helplessness.

To break this cycle, it is essential to foster environments where open communication is encouraged. Creating safe spaces for dialogue allows individuals to express their feelings and concerns without fear of judgement. It requires vulnerability and courage to confront difficult topics, but the potential for healing and growth is invaluable. By addressing the issues that weigh heavily on our hearts and minds, we can begin to release the burdens we carry, ultimately leading to stronger connections and a more harmonious existence.

In conclusion, while we may live in a world that often turns a blind eye to pressing issues, we have the power to change this narrative. By embracing open discussions and confronting the challenges we face, we can pave the way for understanding, forgiveness, and a brighter future.

Bitten by the Serpent I Fed: Betrayal of the Hand That Helped Chapter 4: Shadows of Misfortune

In the months that followed, it was as if a dark cloud had settled over Ethan, hovering above him, casting shadows on everything he tried to accomplish. His business, once a growing source of pride, began to falter. Deals slipped through his fingers, contracts vanished, and clients he once counted on disappeared without explanation. Each day felt like a battle he couldn’t win, and no matter how hard he worked, his efforts seemed cursed to fail.

The strain took its toll. At home, Ethan’s spirit was dimmed, his once lively eyes now dull and defeated. He carried an air of frustration and bitterness, a weight that seemed to follow him from room to room, settling over our home like a thick, oppressive fog. He tried looking for jobs, reaching out to old contacts, scouring listings, but everywhere he turned, doors closed in his face. The world he had once known, the future he had envisioned, seemed to crumble before him.

I watched, heartbroken, as he slipped further into despair. It was as if he were caught in quicksand, sinking deeper with every struggle. Ethan became a shadow of the man I had married—a man whose laughter had once filled our home, whose optimism had been a beacon in my life. Now, he was silent, withdrawn, his spirit fractured.

And then, there was the baby. Emma had always been sensitive to the energies around her. From the moment she was born, there was a light in her, a purity that seemed to see past facades and into the heart of those around her. But lately, when Ethan reached out to hold her, she would turn away, her tiny face contorting as if she sensed something dark around him. At first, he brushed it off, but the rejections began to pile up, each one cutting him deeper. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, but no matter how he tried, Emma would not let him close.

Ethan didn’t understand what was happening, but I did. The air around him had changed. There was something clinging to him, something heavy and dark. I felt it every time I was near him, and I knew that this wasn’t a normal run of bad luck. This was something else, something evil. And I had no doubt who was behind it.

Evelyn.

I didn’t know how she did it, but I could feel her influence, like a whisper in the wind, a chill that settled over everything Ethan touched. She had found a way to curse him, to bind his life in chains, ensuring that he would fail, that he would be a burden rather than a blessing. She had set out to break him, and, in doing so, to break us.

One day, as he drove home from another fruitless job interview, it happened. A car came out of nowhere, hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. He slammed on the brakes, heart racing, but there was no way he could avoid it. In those final moments, he saw his life flash before his eyes, a glimpse of everything he stood to lose, everyone he would leave behind. But then, something inexplicable happened. The car swerved, as if guided by an invisible hand, missing him by mere inches.

Ethan pulled over to the side of the road, hands trembling, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He knew, in that moment, that he had been spared. By all accounts, he should have been crushed in that collision, his life taken in an instant. But there was something greater at work—a force of protection that had shielded him from the darkness that sought to claim him.

That night, he came home, shaken and silent. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and vulnerability that I had never seen before. "I should have died today," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how I’m still here."

I took his hand, holding it tightly, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. I knew that the battle we were facing was not just a test of our resilience but a fight for our very souls. We couldn’t keep pretending that this was something we could handle on our own. The forces against us were too strong, too insidious.

"Ethan," I said softly, "we need to pray."

He looked at me, his expression blank. "What do you mean?"

"I mean every night. Together. We need to pray, to ask for God’s protection, for strength. This… whatever is happening to us… it’s not just bad luck. There’s something evil here, something that wants to destroy us."

He was silent, his gaze drifting to Emma, asleep in her crib, her small face serene and untouched by the turmoil that had overtaken our lives. After a long moment, he nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Let’s pray."

And so, every night, as the world around us fell into silence, we knelt together in our bedroom, hands clasped, voices quiet but resolute. We prayed for protection, for guidance, for strength to face the darkness that surrounded us. We prayed for our family, for our marriage, for the light to overcome the shadows that threatened to consume us.

It wasn’t easy. There were nights when Ethan’s faith wavered, when he questioned whether any of this would make a difference. But each time, I reminded him of the accident, of the miracle that had spared his life. "You’re still here for a reason," I told him, my voice steady. "God isn’t finished with you yet."

Slowly, as the days turned into weeks, I began to see a change in him. The darkness that had clung to him started to fade, the despair that had weighed him down lifting bit by bit. He began to smile again, to laugh, to find joy in the small moments. And Emma… she no longer turned away when he held her. She would reach out, her tiny fingers curling around his, her eyes filled with the same light that had once been his.

I knew that we weren’t free of Evelyn’s influence. I knew that she would continue to try, that she would seek new ways to break us, to poison the bond we shared. But for the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope. We were not alone in this fight. We had each other, and we had faith. And with that, we had everything we needed to face whatever came next.

Bitten by the Serpent I Fed: Betrayal of the Hand That Helped - Chapter 3: Fire and Shadows

Evelyn had always been a shadow over my life. But in recent years, that shadow had grown darker, more menacing. What started as subtle manipulations, whispered doubts, and quiet interference had turned into something far more sinister. There were things I could not explain, strange occurrences that followed her visits, feelings of dread that crept over me every time she was near. And then, there were the dreams.

The first time I dreamt of her, I was pregnant with our son, Caleb. I saw her standing over me in the dark, her face shrouded in shadow, her eyes glowing with malice. In the dream, she was holding a knife, slowly lowering it towards my unborn child, her expression twisted into something I had never seen before—hatred. I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. I brushed it off as a nightmare, a figment of my fears and worries about becoming a mother. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than that.

Ethan tried to comfort me, telling me it was just my hormones, that I was overthinking things. But I knew better. Something about Evelyn’s presence unsettled me, and I had seen too many signs to ignore it any longer. After that dream, I kept my distance. I kept her at arm’s length during my pregnancy, making excuses, avoiding visits. I didn’t want her near my child, even before he was born.

Then came the second pregnancy. I was seven months along when Evelyn visited our home. I had tried to avoid her, but Ethan insisted. "She’s your mother-in-law," he said. "She has a right to be involved in our lives." He didn’t understand. He didn’t see what I saw. I relented, for his sake, but the moment she stepped into our home, something shifted. It was as if the air itself grew heavier, thicker.

That evening, I started cramping. Pain shot through my abdomen, sharp and relentless. Blood. I was bleeding. Panic set in, and Ethan rushed me to the hospital. The doctors said I was lucky. They couldn’t explain why the cramping and bleeding had started, but they managed to stop it before it could harm the baby. Still, I knew. The moment Evelyn left our home, the pain subsided. It was no coincidence.

I tried to tell Ethan, but he wouldn’t hear it. His mother had a hold on him, a deep bond that I couldn’t break. He was torn between the evidence and his love for her, and I couldn’t blame him. But I knew what I felt, what I had seen, and I was done allowing her near our children.

When our daughter, Emma, was born, I made a decision. I went home to my mother for help with the newborn, surrounded by the love and protection that had always been my family’s strength. My mother and sisters prayed over Emma, blessing her, placing a hedge of spiritual protection around her. I knew that Evelyn would come, that she would insist on seeing her granddaughter. But this time, I was prepared. I had prayed, I had asked God for protection over my child, and I would no longer allow her darkness into our home.

Ethan, distraught and confused, pleaded with me to let his mother visit. "She just wants to help," he said, his voice strained. "She’s your mother-in-law. You can’t keep her away from our children forever."

But I had made up my mind. "She can visit," I said, "but she will never hold Emma. Not this time." I didn’t explain further. There were things he would never understand, not as long as he was under her spell. I loved him, but I couldn’t trust him to protect us from her.

One morning, I heard a knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and when I opened the door, my heart sank. There stood Evelyn, dressed impeccably as always, holding a large gift bag in her hands. She smiled that thin, knowing smile of hers—the one that never quite reached her eyes—and swept past me into the house before I could say a word.

Ethan appeared in the hallway, looking surprised. “Mom, what are you doing here?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

She waved her hand dismissively, as if her sudden, unannounced arrival was of no consequence. "Oh, I told you I’d visit this week, didn’t I? And since I haven’t heard anything from either of you, I figured it was time to meet my granddaughter."

I shot a look at Ethan. He looked confused, but there was something off in his expression. I had the sinking feeling that he knew more than he was letting on.

Later that evening, I confronted him. "Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?" I demanded. "We agreed she wouldn’t visit without discussing it first."

Ethan hesitated, his eyes shifting away from mine. "I didn’t know she was coming today," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He was lying. I knew him too well to miss the signs.

"Don’t lie to me," I said quietly, my heart pounding. "You told her she could come, didn’t you? You gave her permission to just show up."

His silence was the only answer I needed. I felt a cold wave of betrayal wash over me. He had conspired with his mother, allowing her to come into our home without my knowledge, without my consent. I turned away from him, anger and hurt boiling up inside me.

Evelyn’s visit was not an act of love—it was an intrusion, another move in the game she was playing. She had won Ethan over, once again, and now she was here, uninvited, to stake her claim over our lives.

But even she couldn’t have anticipated what happened next.

When she reached out to hold Emma, she hesitated. Her hands, always so steady, trembled as she cradled the baby. I watched as a strange look crossed her face—confusion, followed by something darker. She quickly handed Emma back to me, as if she couldn’t bear to hold her any longer. I noticed her rubbing her hands together, almost as if they were burning.

She didn’t say anything, but I could see the discomfort in her eyes. Every time she tried to hold Emma after that, it was the same. Her hands would flinch away, and she’d pass the baby back as quickly as she could. I knew what was happening. The hedge of fire around Emma was real. Evelyn couldn’t touch her—couldn’t harm her. God’s protection was stronger than anything she could conjure.

She stayed for two days, claiming she had planned to visit all week, but by the end of the second day, she abruptly left. She made excuses, saying she had things to do, but I knew the truth. She couldn’t handle the presence of my daughter, the one thing she couldn’t manipulate or control.

Ethan was distraught, torn between his love for his mother and the growing distance between us. He didn’t understand what had happened, didn’t believe me when I told him that Emma was protected by something greater than us. But deep down, I knew that even if he couldn’t see it, Evelyn could. And that knowledge would keep her at bay—for now.

But as I watched her retreat from our home, I knew this wasn’t the end. The serpent’s bite had failed this time, but she would return. She always did.

Bitten by the Serpent I Fed: Betrayal of the hand that helped - Chapter 2: The Serpent's Whisper

In the beginning, our marriage was everything I had ever dreamed of—pure, full of love, and grounded in the kind of trust that only a deep connection could build. For the first three years, Ethan and I were inseparable, bonded by love and the shared belief that no one, not even our families, could come between us. We shielded each other, not because we had to, but because we wanted to. Our marriage wasn’t just a partnership—it was a fortress, and we were each other’s fiercest defenders.

My family embraced Ethan as one of their own from the moment they met him. They loved him, trusted him, and welcomed him with open arms. My parents, devout Christians, taught us the power of prayer, the value of humility, and the importance of living with integrity. They prayed over our union, guided us with wisdom, and supported our dreams in ways that made us feel invincible. Every Sunday, we gathered at my parents’ house for dinner, followed by evening prayers where we all held hands, heads bowed, thanking God for the blessings we had.

Ethan’s devotion to the Lord grew under their guidance, and I was proud to see the man he was becoming. He prayed with me every night, thanking God for our marriage, for the life we were building, and for the strength to face any challenges that came our way. He was respectful towards my parents, treating them with the love and gratitude they deserved. In turn, they supported our dreams, encouraging Ethan to pursue his ambitions, and helping us build a foundation for our future.

For a while, it felt like nothing could touch us. We were thriving. Ethan had started his own business, something he had dreamed of for years, and my parents stood by us through every step. They offered advice, lent us money when we needed it, and never once asked for anything in return. Their love was unconditional, and in those early days, Ethan appreciated that. He often told me how lucky he felt to have married into such a supportive family, how grateful he was for their kindness.

But things changed. Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, something began to shift between us. It started with small things—little disagreements that felt more heated than they should have been, misunderstandings that lingered longer than they should have. At first, I brushed it off as normal marriage woes. Every couple has rough patches, I told myself. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. Ethan had begun to pull away.

The first time I noticed the real strain was after a visit from his mother, Evelyn. She had always been distant with me, never outright cruel, but cold in a way that made me feel unwelcome. I tried to be respectful, tried to bridge the gap, but Evelyn never seemed interested in getting close to me. She was polite, sure, but there was a thin layer of frost between us that never thawed.

After that particular visit, Ethan seemed different. It wasn’t something I could pinpoint immediately, but it was there in the way he spoke to me—in the doubt that crept into his voice when I told him something. It was subtle, but undeniable. He began questioning things that had never been questioned before, doubting my words as if they were suddenly unreliable.

At first, I thought it was just stress. The business was growing, and we were both under a lot of pressure. But then, I started to notice a pattern. Every time Ethan spent time with his mother, he came back colder, more distant. I could feel him slipping away from me, and I didn’t know why. When I confronted him about it, he brushed it off, telling me I was imagining things. But I wasn’t. There was something insidious happening, something I couldn’t quite grasp.

It wasn’t until I overheard a conversation between Ethan and his mother that I began to understand. I had come home early from a meeting and found them sitting in the living room, talking in hushed voices. I stayed out of sight, not wanting to interrupt, but as I listened, my heart sank.

“She doesn’t understand you, Ethan,” his mother was saying. “You deserve better than this. Better than her family meddling in your life, telling you how to run your marriage. They’re poisoning you, filling your head with nonsense.”

“But they’ve been nothing but kind to us,” Ethan protested, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. “They’ve helped us—”

“They’ve helped you?” Evelyn’s voice sharpened. “Or have they trapped you? They’re controlling you, using their so-called kindness to keep you under their thumb. I’ve seen it happen before. They’re not as innocent as they pretend to be.”

I felt my heart race as her words dug into Ethan’s mind like the fangs of a serpent. I wanted to burst into the room, to confront her, to tell Ethan that none of it was true. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen, listening as she continued to weave her poison into his thoughts.

“They’ve got you wrapped around their little finger,” she hissed. “And you’re letting them. You’re letting them tell you how to live, how to think. But you don’t have to. You’re stronger than that, Ethan. Don’t you see? She’s just like them.”

Ethan didn’t respond. He sat there, silent, absorbing her venomous words.

From that day on, things only got worse. The whispers grew louder, more frequent, until they were no longer whispers but commands. Ethan began to believe every lie his mother fed him, began to look at me not with love, but with suspicion. He questioned my every move, doubted my every word.

I tried to talk to him, to make him see that his mother was manipulating him, driving a wedge between us. But he wouldn’t hear it. She had done her job well. The serpent had bitten, and its poison was coursing through his veins.

The man who had once prayed with me, who had once defended me from the world, was now a stranger. A stranger who no longer trusted the hand that had once held him so gently.

And I was left wondering if the love we had once shared could ever be saved from the serpent that now lived between us.

Bitten by the serpent I fed: Betrayal of the hand that helped - Chapter 1: The Bite

I’ve always believed in second chances. It's a creed I carried like a badge, telling myself that no one is beyond redemption, and that in the end, kindness would prevail. But no one warns you about the cost of being too open, too trusting. They never tell you how the serpent you nurse back to life could one day sink its fangs into your outstretched hand.

When I first met Simon, he was broken in a way that made people turn away. Most people saw a lost cause—empty eyes, crumpled clothes, and the faint smell of despair that clung to him like a second skin. But I saw potential. I saw a man beaten down by life, standing at the edge of a cliff with no one to pull him back. And against all reason, I extended my hand.

I suppose that’s where the mistake began—thinking that kindness was the answer to every question. That somehow, offering help without limits could heal a soul that wasn’t mine to fix.

I first crossed paths with him at a charity event. He was slouched against the bar, nursing a drink like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Our conversation was brief, almost forced. I was there for the cause, a fundraiser for a local shelter, and Simon… well, he was there for the free drinks. But even then, there was something about him that drew me in—maybe it was the way his eyes avoided mine, or the way he seemed like he didn’t belong. Whatever it was, I found myself intrigued, wondering what had broken him so thoroughly.

By the end of the night, he was in my orbit. We exchanged numbers, I told him about the work I did, and he seemed interested, if only for a moment. When I suggested he volunteer with us, he gave me a look that made me second-guess myself. But I was determined. I saw a flicker of something in him, something I thought could be saved.

Weeks passed, and Simon became a constant in my life. I invited him into my world, introducing him to people who could help, giving him opportunities he hadn’t earned. He started showing up at the shelter, at first just to help out, and then to talk. There were days when he would sit in the corner, watching me work, like he was trying to figure me out. I never asked him about his past—I figured, if he wanted to tell me, he would. But slowly, bits of his story leaked through the cracks.

He’d lost everything, or so he said. A career, a family, a future. He painted himself as a victim of circumstance, and I believed him. How could I not? He was charming when he wanted to be, and vulnerable in a way that made you want to protect him.

Looking back now, I see the warning signs I ignored. The inconsistencies in his stories, the way he manipulated his way into the lives of others, always playing the part of the wounded animal. But I didn’t see it then. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to save him.

One night, after we’d spent hours talking over coffee, he said something that stuck with me. “You’re too good to me,” he muttered, eyes downcast, tracing the rim of his cup. “I don’t deserve this.”

I smiled, brushing it off like a compliment, like it was nothing more than his self-doubt speaking. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” I told him. “You just need to believe in yourself.”

But Simon wasn’t just doubting himself. He was doubting me, too. And in the coming months, I would learn that giving him a second chance came at a price I hadn’t anticipated.

The first time things went wrong, it was subtle. Little lies, told with such confidence that I almost didn’t notice them. A missed meeting, a forgotten promise—small things that, at the time, seemed like honest mistakes. But they built up. And each time, I found myself forgiving him, brushing aside my suspicions because I still believed in the man I thought I knew.

But the serpent was coiling, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The bite didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t a single betrayal, but a series of small, calculated moves. He borrowed money, promised to pay it back. He didn’t. He asked for help getting a job, swore he wouldn’t let me down. He did. And yet, every time I was on the verge of cutting him off, he would pull me back in with an apology, a promise to do better. And I believed him, because I wanted to.

It wasn’t until the night everything fell apart that I realized just how deep the venom ran. Simon had taken more than I could have ever imagined—my trust, my security, and the very things I’d built my life around. The money was one thing, but it was the betrayal of friendship that hurt the most. He had used me, manipulated me, and in the end, left me to pick up the pieces while he disappeared into the shadows.

The bite of the serpent I fed still stings. It’s a wound that hasn’t fully healed, a scar that serves as a reminder of the danger of misplaced loyalty.

And now, as I sit here, recounting the events that led me to this moment, I wonder how many others have been bitten by the serpents they tried to save.