“Will you ever love me?” she gave voice to the deepest, rawest desire of her heart. He simply looked at her, curious from what she could sense. “What is love to you?” The question gave Lyla pause. What was love to her? What did she actually want when she wanted to be loved? She didn’t know love, had never felt it, experienced it except for the son she’d sacrificed, and that love was different. Or was it? Was all love not the same, sprouting from the same source? “I think it’s feeling safe,” she told him after a long moment of thinking, a moment where he patiently waited for the answer.
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