“Whose are you?” I’ve never asked another woman for this, never needed it. But at the core of who I am, I know I belong to Kimba. I want to hear that she feels the same. “I belong to myself,” she says, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “And to the boy who married me when I was six years old.” I pull back and stare down into her eyes, alive with love and peace and fire. “You remember.” “I remember everything. You owe me a lifetime.”
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