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I still saw her sometimes—the girl I used to be. She lived behind a locked door in my mind. The door that protected the last secret part of me. The final bastion I had that no one else could infiltrate or overcome. It was locked so securely that no one but me could force or tease it open.
If the world had had eyes since the moment of its creation and witnessed all manner of natural and man-made violence and destruction, its eyes might never match the despair Connor had seen in Claire Fletcher’s eyes.
My experience had overwhelmed me, it had become the sum of my parts, who I was, and I hadn’t deemed myself fit to return to those who loved me.
Love was an exiled emotion, an amputee from my inner body—the wound staunched and cauterized with cruelty and privation.
I catch a glimpse of the girl I used to be in the reflection from the window. She smiles at me. With every day that passes, I see her more and more. I want to stop and watch her, but I don’t. Her eyes tell me not to—her eyes tell me that one day I’ll look in the mirror and see only myself, and that woman will be beautiful and not broken.
