He looked down.
“I should’ve stopped asking you to be patient with her.”
“I thought keeping the peace meant nobody lost.”
“I was losing.”
His eyes came back to mine.
“I know.”
“Then don’t ever ask me to make her comfortable at my expense again.”
“I won’t.”
“I was losing.”
***
Two days later, I sat in front of another mirror.
This time, the scissors behind me were there because I’d chosen them.
The stylist studied the damage.
“I can save some length.”
I ran my fingers through what remained.
For two days, I’d been thinking about what Martha took.
The stylist studied the damage.
I was tired of building my next choice around her.
“How short can we go?”
“A bob would work.”
Nick looked at me.
“What do you want?”
I smiled at my reflection.
“How short can we go?”
“Make it sleek.”
When the stylist finished, my hair fell in a clean line near my jaw.
No braid.
No flowers.
No attempt to rebuild the version of me Martha had ruined.
Nick stood behind me.
“Make it sleek.”
“There you are, my love.”
I met his eyes in the mirror.
“What does that mean?”
“You look like yourself.”
