I didn’t.
The first night, I sat alone in the living room.
A candle burned on the table.
For months after the fire, I couldn’t tolerate open flame.
That night, I watched it calmly.
My reflection appeared in the window.
The scars were still there.
They always would be.
I touched the left side of my face.
Once, Derek’s refusal to look at me had made me believe I had become something unbearable.
Now I understood the truth.
He couldn’t look because my face reminded him of what he had done.
Every scar was evidence that his plan had failed.
Every surgery was evidence that I was still here.
