When hard times come, does it automatically mean that they are solely meant to harm a person or destroy their lives? Or could those same hard times be there to shape and mold that person in a way that no other method could do or could do as completely and quickly?

My routines were safe. They kept me secure in my mind even as they kept me fastened to my bronze-version life. I’d asked for this. I didn’t know it at the time of my asking. It didn’t sound like that at all. It sounded like groaning. Deep, unsatisfied, guttural groaning. And it wouldn’t stop.