The room turned on me in an instant. Laughter died, replaced by a cold, rehearsed cruelty that tasted like betrayal. My own blood tried to bury me alive under paperwork and poisoned ink, signing away my future with a diagnosis they invented and a signature that wasn’t mine. They thought I was cornered, finished, broken. So when the officers arrived, I let them clasp my wrists, let them lead me through the whispers and the smug, satisfied smiles. They didn’t know who was really walking into that hallway. They didn’t know what waited beyond the do… Continues…
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