They just call her names.
Single mother. Characterless lady.
But, did they know her real name? Did they know her identity?
They could only hope to know. How can they, when their minds are clouded with preconceived ideas? How could they understand her when their vision was blocked with their own images?
Too liberated said one. Too opinionated said another.
It just went on and on.
Till she just picked up her bag, stepped into her high heels, and walked out of the door like she cared a damn. She held her head high, and wiped away a tear that dropped on her cheek, saying to herself, “Be strong, you are a woman.” Her mind said one thing. Her heart longed for love.