“She’d told me that we don’t get broken, but that we’re made so. And we were wounded, the pair of us, sure and true; both still bleeding from the wounds life had carved in us, the loved ones torn away from us. Honestly, I still feared my hurts would never be mended entire. But as I held that woman in my arms, I knew she’d spoken truth—that if we’re blessed, we might find someone whose edges fit against our own, like pieces of the same puzzle, or shards of the same broken sword. Someone who, in their own broken way, makes our brokenness whole, and our shattered edge complete.
