After the accident, my hearing came back, but I didn't tell my husband or my mother-in-law right away. They smiled sweetly, talking to each other right in front of me. In that moment, I realized: “What disgusting pieces of trash...” From that moment on, I decided I was going to destroy them.

The harsh, grinding sound of the steel blades violently destroying her manipulative words had been my new favorite melody.

I had lost my hearing in a brutal, terrifying tragedy. It had plunged me into a dark, suffocating underwater cage where I was entirely at the mercy of the monsters I lived with.

But in that silence, I had gained something far more valuable than anything I had lost. I had gained absolute, unwavering clarity. I had learned to see people for exactly who they were, stripped of their lies and their honeyed words.

I opened my eyes, looking out over the endless, sparkling blue horizon of the Pacific Ocean.

People often say that silence is golden. They say it is a sign of peace, of submission, of letting things go.

They are entirely wrong.