“I’m sick of it, Glen, I’m done with you acting like you’re not worthy of me just because of some goddamn collagen! I’m sick of you hiding from photographers to save my image. I’m sick of you hiding your face from me. I adore your face! I love it so much! I want to see it every day for the rest of my life!” Her chest hitches with a sob. I can barely breathe. “I thought you might be dead when that bomb went off. Do you think it would have hurt me less, because of your scars?” “It’s not like that—” I protest. She’s having none of it. “It’s exactly like that. You think you’re worth less than
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