On the surface, Maria was bright and positive and warm.
She never acted as if anything bothered her.
She smiled through everything, carried herself with grace, spread kindness wherever she went.
But beneath that surface?
Maria was a deeply vulnerable woman.
Insecure. Unsure of her own worth. Unable to fully accept love because she didn't believe she deserved it.
And the saddest part?
It wasn't because of anything Maria had done to herself.
It was because of what had been done to her.
The father of Joy—the man who was supposed to take responsibility, who was supposed to love her, who was supposed to stand by her side—had done none of that.
He had ignored her completely.
Thrown her aside like garbage.
Even though he had been willing to force himself upon her, to take what he wanted without consent, he refused to take any responsibility for the consequences.
And what made it even worse?
Before that, he had loved her. Genuinely loved her.
