The Cost of Staying I stayed for five years in a house that had become a graveyard for my hope. I stayed because I was waiting for the man I loved to return, but instead, I watched a monster take his place. It wasn't just the black eyes that became my annual birthday gifts. It was the violation in the dark while I slept, the videos he kept as trophies, and the moments he choked me into unconsciousness until the world went black. I stayed for my home, for my children, and for a memory of a man who no longer existed. I finally left not because I stopped loving him, but because it was the only way to stay alive. This is the messy, blood-stained truth of survival. It isn't pretty, and it isn't easy—but I am still here.