I don’t think I’ve fully left her behind yet. She’s still here sometimes, quiet but present. She’s the version of me who panics when someone goes silent. The one who assumes silence means I’ve been forgotten, used, or replaced. The one who starts asking questions that no one can answer, because they only exist in my head. That version of me doesn’t trust easily. When she finally lets her guard down, it’s because she believes the person in front of her might be different. That