Yara thought she was strong. Smart. The kind of woman who knew better.
And yet, there she was... sitting on her cold bathroom floor at 2:47 AM, staring at the woman in the mirror with swollen, hollow eyes.
Her lip was busted, blood dripping onto her trembling fingers. But some of it wasn’t hers. Some of it belonged to Eli.
Her reflection was proof of just how much of herself she’d lost.
It started with little things, harmless on their own.
“A man should never be with a woman who makes more than him. That’s just unnatural.”
Eli had said it so casually like he was talking about the weather.
Yara frowned but let it slide. Just one thing. Just an opinion. No one’s perfect, right?
Then came the jokes and snide remarks about her body, her hobbies and her opinions.
Then, the criticism—how she was too ambitious as if a woman’s dreams should come with a leash.
Then, the money problems.
His reckless spending.
His “our future” talk that somehow always meant her wallet.
Then, the women.
The first time she caught him cheating, she convinced herself it was just a mistake. A weak moment. Something they could move past.
The second time was tonight. And this time, she wasn’t making excuses.
She told him she was leaving.
That’s when his face twisted into something ugly. His hands struck faster than she thought possible.
The first slap sent her reeling.
The second hit harder.
By the third, she was fighting back.
She had never fought like that before... teeth, nails, fists, anything to survive.
But he was stronger, and soon, his hands were around her throat. Her vision blurred. Her lungs screamed.
And that’s when it hit her—she was going to die here.
Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.
If she somehow made it through this night, if they somehow "worked it out" again, if she convinced herself one more time that it wasn’t that bad... she would still die.
If not by his hands, then by the slow, soul-crushing erosion of everything she used to be.
Some part of her almost accepted it.
Almost…
Because wasn’t this her fault? She let it get to this point.
She betrayed herself.
This was her punishment.
Then, rage.
A white-hot fury swallowed her fear whole.
She refused. She fucking refused.
She wasn’t going to be one of those women.
Her hands shot up. Nails dug deep into his eyes, all the way in.
Eli howled, reeling back, hands flying to his face.
Yara didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.
She grabbed the heavy glass vase on the side table—the one he bought with her fucking hard-earned money—and shattered it over his head.
His body staggered, then crumpled.
She ran.
Stumbling down the stairs, gasping, coughing.……..free.
And that’s when the thought finally hit her, sharper than any slap he ever gave her:
If she had stayed, she would have died there.
And Eli?
That motherfucker wasn’t worth dying for.
She spat blood onto the sidewalk. The last taste of her self-delusion leaving her tongue.
She was done!
Not just with him. With all of it.
The settling.
The justifying.
The quiet suffocation of her own fucking standards.
She had almost died because she stayed too long.
Ignored herself, her needs, her own fucking safety—for what? Love? Fear of loneliness? The expectations of others?
Settling had already cost her too much.
She wasn’t about to let it bury her!
If Yara’s story feels too real, good. Because settling doesn’t just cost you time. It costs you your dignity. Your self-worth. Sometimes, your fucking life.
You already know this. You’ve felt this. You’ve seen the signs.
So be honest with yourself—where have you been settling? And when are you finally going to stop?
Hit reply and tell me, I’d love to hear from you today.
No shame.
No judgment.
Just raw, unfiltered truth.