Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

“It’s still beating,” he whispers, his words a soft kiss against my lips. “As long as it’s beating, you’re okay.”

It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she.

“I was thinking you can wear it over your heart as a constant reminder of everything you survived. As long as it’s still beating, you’re okay.”

She doesn’t need to pretend with me, though. She doesn’t need to hide. I’m here, and I see her—every scar, every flaw, every broken, hollow piece. And I understand.