It was a beautiful moment, but it was also proof of just how badly she’d failed at the one promise she’d made to herself for almost all her adult life: don’t get attached. She wanted that promise not to matter anymore because, after all, this place and these people were not like any of the others she’d known before. They knew who she was. They knew her secrets. Here, she was accepted, understood, and even liked. So would it really be so bad to get attached? Would it really be so bad to admit to herself that she really fucking loved it here, and she loved these people, and she wanted nothing
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