Was the desire for freedom our crossroads? When a woman chose the path of independence, did that mean everything behind her was ugly and existed only until forgotten? No, pretending the beautiful didn’t exist was as flawed as pretending the bad didn’t. No one, nothing, was all bad or all good. Life was too complex. Had it been nothing but bad, leaving would’ve been easy. Butter wasn’t there the nights I was on my knees begging God for the strength to leave. After years, I had done it. Why couldn’t I decide what I was leaving behind?
