The first time I told my story, I felt only pain. “How could this have happened to me?” I asked. The second time I told my story, I felt only sorrow. “How could this have come to be?” I pondered. The third time I told my story, I felt only anger. "How could life be so cruel and unjust to me?" I wondered. The fourth time I told my story, I felt only heartbreak. “How could life have taken what I love from me?” I mused. The fifth time I told my story, I felt only confusion. “How did all of this make sense for me and my life?” I reflected. The sixth time I told my story, I felt only insignificance. “Maybe my life and who I am lack meaning.” I thought to myself. The seventh time I told my story, to my surprise, I heard a voice within, whispering, “I am your story. But you cannot truly tell me yet, for you have not seen the ending. You have not yet seen all that will be made possible through all that you have previously seen, learned...