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Image by Joachim from Pixabay

I never should have looked up. Wondered about that woman wrapping a shawl around her pale shoulders, pressing her petite hand upon the window. Her eyes met mine, beckoned to me. Begged me to be her hero.

A prisoner of a cruel father or husband who kept her locked away so high above the beautiful city below. At least that’s what I thought. The young fool that I was.

How many nights did I walk by, tell myself not to look up? But young minds are rarely rationa...