Lyssa learns her new scars by tracing them in the mirror. Still raw and puckered between the stitches. She holds her breath and counts until she can’t look anymore. Yesterday she made it to twenty-seven. Today it’s only eight. She wraps her stomach back up and goes to feed the baby.Continue reading
“So you want him to worship you, but you want to be approachable?” asks my friend. He’s well-meaning but a little dense.
“I want him to see my innermost soul, which is divine.”
“And you want these things at the same time?”
“I’m capable of entertaining opposing factions.” Continue reading