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I breathe out, long and slow. “I know it’s not my fault,” I say. “But I feel the pain of it. The injustice, the tragedy. It’s too heavy for me.” “Then let someone else help you carry it.”
“I used to think that if I could erase my scars, I would have my happy ending, like all those princesses and woodcutters’ daughters in the fairy tales. But I consider my scars badges of honor now. I wouldn’t change them.

