From one anonymous woman to another

I saw a face today— not in person — but I didn’t expect to see it.
And something in me froze.

I thought I had moved past it — or at least moved far enough away from it.
But some memories don’t knock before they come rushing in.

They don’t care if you were having a good morning.

They don’t care if you were feeling strong, or grounded, or even just okay.

One photo. One name. One echo.
And suddenly, you’re back in a moment you never wanted in the first place — much less to revisit.

It didn’t last forever. The wave passed.
But I felt it — the weight in my chest, the lump in my throat, the questions I’ve already answered a hundred times:
“Was it really that bad?”
“Should I have done more to protect the future women who meet him?”
“Why am I still shaken by this?”

And then I did what I could.
I shared what was safe.
I used my voice — anonymously — to protect someone who might not know what they’re walking into.
Not out of anger.
But out of care.
Because I would’ve wanted someone to do the same for me back then.

And now… I’m looking down at this perfect little face, as I rock my baby for a nap.

His breath slows against my shoulder.
One hand curled against my chest, the other on my back.
The room quiet.

And just like that — I am back in this moment.

One that’s steady.
One that’s safe.
One that’s mine.

I don’t owe the past my silence.
And I don’t owe it my presence either.

I’m here now — in this soft, still place where healing is allowed to happen.
Where I have found my voice.