I slowly move down her body, squatting to my knees so I’m face to face with her navel. I run my thumb across the puckered scar at her abdomen. She shudders at the touch. A few faint stretch marks run along the length of her torso. “I love this because it grew one of my favorite people.” I flutter my eyes up to her, and she’s staring down at me with tears in her gaze. “I admire so much about your body, Dahlia, but most of all, this.” I touch the scar again. “The strength and bravery it took to carry her, to birth her, all on your own. You deserved better. You deserved love and support. But even
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