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Everyone was on broadcast these days, thrusting out versions of themselves, cropped and filtered for public consumption. Everyone putting on the “show of me.” It was when people were alone, unobserved, that the mask came off.
It’s really one of the things mothers should teach their daughters. Chew your food carefully. Look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t fuck your direct supervisor no matter how hot, rich, or charming he may happen to be.
Who you were is gone. Who you will be—she doesn’t exist. The only thing that matters is who are you are right now.
Reasons that seemed childish now. She wanted to live on the edge, push the boundaries, walk on the wild side while she was young. She hadn’t been ready to settle into a life where she already knew the beginning, the middle and the end.
In the quiet, she wondered how much of her marriage—of any marriage—was built on a foundation of pretty stories, a narrative that you stitched together based on delusion and hope and wishful thinking.
How complicated we all are; even the worst among us might still be worthy of love.
It was about the truth. The truth like a wildfire that burned everything in its path. One that destroyed but also cleansed. And then from the ash, new life.
“You cannot explain or come to understand the actions of deranged people. You can only accept what has happened and try to move forward, grateful that you have survived them.”
She’d destroyed Selena’s life. She’d saved Selena’s life. She’d taken something. Given something. It was complicated.
