Her Secret Notebook

Chapter 20: Her Secret Notebook

It was small—just a worn, secondhand notebook with a few missing pages and a bent cover. Mary found it one day in a pile of her cousin's old schoolbooks, tossed aside like trash. To everyone else, it was useless. But to Mary, it was treasure.

She hid it carefully, slipping it under the mat where she slept. And at night, after her chores were done and the house had fallen into silence, she would pull it out like a sacred ritual.

In that notebook, Mary poured her soul.

At first, she wrote about her daily life—what happened in school, what punishment she endured, what food she cooked, how tired she felt. But slowly, her writing changed. It became a safe place for her thoughts, her hopes, her imagination.

She began to write short stories—about girls who escaped harsh homes and found kind families. About quiet heroes who were stronger than their enemies. About light breaking through even the darkest nights.

Sometimes she wrote letters she never sent:

"Dear Mama, I miss you. I still remember your voice. I wish you could see me now."

"Dear God, I'm still waiting. Please don't forget me."

"Dear Future Me, I hope you made it."

The notebook became her secret companion. It never shouted at her. It never hit her. It listened. It held her truth.

And through it, Mary began to find her voice.

She read what she wrote and realized that her words had power. That even though she was still trapped in a painful reality, her mind was free. Her thoughts could not be beaten. Her dreams could not be locked away.

Some days, she would flip back through the pages and see how far she had come. Her handwriting got stronger. Her words became bolder. Her heart, though still hurting, beat with growing belief.

That little notebook, hidden beneath a sleeping mat in a kitchen corner, was more than paper.

It was Mary's lifeline.

A soft place for her broken thoughts.

A mirror of her strength.

A reminder that she was still alive, still dreaming, still fighting.