Once upon a time, she was always trying. Cooked borscht, wrote first, waited for calls, tolerated silence. Always “understood” and “accepted”. She was called kind. Cozy. Reliable. But no one asked her how she felt.

One day she just woke up and didn't want to do it anymore. No more understanding, no more patience, no more waiting. She cut off her hair, changed her phone number and bought herself a ticket to a town where no one knew her.

Now they call her a witch. Cold. Too proud. But she doesn't care. Because now she's a woman who chooses herself. Who laughs loud, loves herself, wears red lipstick and doesn't explain anything else.

She's not evil. She's just free. And that's often scary.