Unbreakable

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She had stared death in the face, felt its cold breath on her skin, and told it: Not today. Not ever. The battle was brutal—poison in her veins, nights curled up in agony, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like an iron chain. There were moments when she thought she couldn’t go on, when the mirror reflected a ghost of the woman she once was. But deep in her core, a fire refused to go out.

And through it all, there was him—the little warrior with short legs and a big heart. The corgi with a crooked ear and eyes that sparkled with mischief. When she was too weak to stand, he pressed his warm little body against her, a silent promise that she was never alone. When despair whispered cruel things in her ear, he chased it away with ridiculous zoomies and an overenthusiastic wag of his tail.

She had loved a man once, given him the best parts of herself, only to watch him hoard them like a miser, never giving back. He had made her feel small, as if her battles were inconveniences, as if her pain was something to be tolerated rather than fought alongside. But she had survived him, too. Walked away from his selfish love with her head high, scars turned into armor.

Now, she stood on the other side of it all—not just alive, but living. Every sunrise was a triumph. Every laugh, a victory. Every step forward, proof that she had not been broken. The little corgi trotted beside her, tongue lolling, a constant reminder that joy had never left—it had just been waiting for her to claim it again.

And she had.