I turned from the stove, blinking back tears.
“But it was me. That version of me—the one who cared more about appearances than people. I let that version of me grow for too long.”
He stepped closer and took my hand.
“But you’re not that girl anymore. I see you now. The real you. And I love you more,” my husband said.
I set the plate of buttery potatoes and eggs between us. No garnish. No Instagram moment. Just a quiet apology in every bite. And somehow, it felt like she was at the table too, her spirit woven into the steam rising from the food.
And for the first time in months, I let someone love me while I grieved.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
