Mehmet Ali had taken my hands.
But he had not taken my dignity.
He had not taken my strength.
He had not taken my will to live.
And that was the part he never managed to understand.
He wanted to see me helpless.
Instead, I became proof that a woman can be wounded and still refuse to be defeated.
So tell me honestly…
When a woman survives something that was meant to destroy her, should people remember only what was taken from her—or the strength she built from what she had left?
