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MidReal Story
Mia Jenkins , a victim of domestic violence , meets
Anonymous
Jun 1
Scenario:Mia Jenkins, a victim of domestic violence, meets Ethan Reynolds, a popular boy who loses his sight in a tragedy, and they fall in love, only to be separated when he regains his eyesight and forgets about her; now, Mia is at the Williams Rehabilitation Center and considers befriending the other residents.
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I was twelve years old when my mother died, and it broke me.
She was the most important person in my life, and I loved her more than anything else in this world.
But one day, she was just gone, and I didn’t know how to go on without her.
I felt like a part of me had died with her, and I couldn’t imagine ever being happy again.
My father tried to help me through it, but he was grieving too, and he didn’t know how to reach me.
So we both just went through the motions, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.
There are no words to describe the pain and confusion that I felt in those days.
I thought that my heart would never heal and that I would never get over the loss of my mother.
But then I met Ethan, and everything changed.
I was never quite the same after my mother died.
I was so young and so unprepared for the intensity of my feelings and the depth of my grief.
It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under me, and I didn’t know how to keep going.
I felt like a part of me had died with her, and I didn’t know how to go on without her.
My father tried to help me through it, but he was grieving too, and he didn’t know how to reach me.
So we both just went through the motions, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.
There are no words to describe the pain and confusion that I felt in those days.
I thought that my heart would never heal and that I would never get over the loss of my mother.
But then I met Ethan, and everything changed.
I was never quite the same after my mother died.
I was so young and so unprepared for the intensity of my feelings and the depth of my grief.
It felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under me, and I didn’t know how to keep going.
When it first happened, I thought that I would never stop crying; that I would never be able to get out of bed again or even breathe easy without feeling like there was a large hole in my chest from where a part of me had been ripped away.
My father tried his best to help me through it, but he was grieving too, and he didn’t know how to help me when he couldn’t even help himself.
