I couldn’t escape the replay: my voice, the sharpness of that single word, the small flicker in her eyes before she shut the door behind them.
I had always treated her strength like a guarantee, mistaking reliability for immunity.
She cooked, she planned, she remembered birthdays and doctor’s appointments, smoothed over conflicts before they ever had a name.
I thought that meant she didn’t need gentleness directed at her. I was wrong.
