When They Burn Their Bridge… and Try to Burn You With It Let’s stop sugarcoating this. Some people don’t move on. They don’t heal. They don’t reflect. They don’t take accountability. They talk. And they keep talking. No matter what you do. You confront it? You’re “dramatic.” You defend yourself? You’re “guilty.” You stay silent? You’re “hiding something.” You cut them off? Now you’re “the villain.” It doesn’t matter. Let’s Be Blunt When someone loses access to you and can’t c

Earlier this week, I shared a blog that I hoped wouldn’t spark more anger than love. Yet, in some ways, it did. It reminded me how easy it is to focus on what divides us—how fast we can react with judgment, criticism, or bitterness. I’ll be honest: I’m guilty of all of that too. I’ve said words in anger, held grudges, and sometimes failed to show the patience and compassion I hope to live by. But today, on Valentine’s Day, I want to flip the script. I want to remind myself—an

Marisol didn’t recognize herself anymore—not in the mirror, not in the quiet spaces between breaths. She had learned to move through life on instinct alone, doing what was required, surviving what was handed to her. That Sunday morning, she buttoned her coat, smoothed her hair, and kissed her daughter’s forehead before heading into church, trusting that for once, things would be handled without her. Evan had their daughter, Lily. He’d said he had “something important” to do—a