An honest look at my side of the story.
You told them my flaws. My weakness. As if revealing them was justice. But it wasn’t betrayal— it was exposure. What defines me affects our family. And I never shared your flaws because they were mine to protect, not to parade. I made mistakes. Who hasn’t? I lost my temper. I said things I regret. And I’m sorry. But disrespecting me to win an argument was never resolution. It was control. You knew how to trigger me. And I reacted. I hit you. You hit back. And no— it wasn’t right. But it wasn’t one-sided either. If fairness had spoken, I should’ve walked away. Not because I didn’t care— but because staying meant losing myself. You shared your pain with others. But you never shared the full truth. I’m not the villain you needed me to be to feel innocent. I’m the man who stayed, who tried, who broke, who rebuilt quietly without applause. So tell your story. But I’ll tell mine too. And mine won’t be shaped to make you feel better. Because I’m not here to be forgiven. I’m here to be free.