In the quiet aftermath of deceit, Where trust lies crumpled, bittersweet, A woman stands, alone, bereft, Her heart in hand, the only piece left. Crimson drips from her gentle grasp, Each drop a memory of love’s clasp, Betrayal’s sharp and ruthless blade, Has left her soul profoundly frayed. Yet in her eyes, a fierce resolve, To mend the heart that once did evolve, From love’s warm embers, a spark ignites, A will to heal, to set to rights. She holds her heart, not in despair, But with a tender, loving care, For even shattered, broken, torn, In her embrace, it’s slowly reborn. A testament to strength within, That even when betrayed by kin, The heart can heal, can love anew, A journey back from pain’s dark hue.