While Beth drew, I stood beside the window in my bedroom and looked out at the garden. It was a mess of colour and overgrown edges. The apple tree was full of life, and its blossom littered the ground beneath. It was beautiful, I thought, in its unpruned neglect. Sunlight fell across my belly, and its heat was proof of my nakedness. But I felt no shame or embarrassment. Beth sat on the bed, and I could hear the scratching of her charcoal against the paper.
