I gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
“But I need you to understand something. Those scars don’t make you less beautiful to me. They make me wish the world had been kinder to you.”
She closed her eyes.
For a long moment, she rested her forehead against mine.
Then she whispered, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Are you disappointed?”
I considered the question carefully.
I could have given her a quick answer. I could have told her no and hoped the reassurance would be enough.
But she had spent too many years living with half-truths.
So I told her the truth.
“I’m heartbroken that you suffered. I’m angry that someone who claimed to love you treated you that way. I’m sad that you carried this alone for so long.”
I paused.
“But I am not disappointed in you. Not even a little.”
Her eyes filled again.
