For me, wings are a symbol of resilience—not the shiny, social-media kind of resilience, but the quiet, messy, gritty kind. The kind that rises from the ashes of betrayal. Of surviving what was meant to break me. Of learning to move through grief and betrayal. Falling down but getting back up after heartbreak and abandonment. Wings are not inherited—they are earned. Each time we choose to believe that something better is possible, even when the evidence feels thin, our wings