“Thank you, Tabitha.” “For what?” I search her face, hoping to memorize every detail. The slope of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows, the swoop of the bow shape on her top lip. How can I encompass all the things she’s done for me in a thank-you? Especially when there’s still a tiny voice in my head that tells me I don’t deserve her. Or this happiness. The troubled little boy in me rears his head now and then, wanting me to question everything I’ve earned. He reminds me that good things don’t usually last. But with Tabitha, it’s just a little bit easier to move past that voice. “Turning my
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