I was always lost on what freedom and love looked like. I thought it looked like moving away at first, then it turned into just being able to go into town without worry. After that it looked just like a man I used to know, and after he left. I had no idea what exactly freedom should look, taste, sound or smell like anymore. I thought I had everything I needed growing up, and that freedom didn't exactly matter. Why care about it, as long as we were locked away together? Now years and a few months later, I was forced to figure that out. What freedom looked like for me.

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ɪɴʜᴇʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴇꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ʀᴇᴀʟ-ᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇ, ᴀ ꜰɪᴇʀᴄᴇʟʏ ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀʟᴏɴɢꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴇʀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀɴ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴏʟᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇ-ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ.