The memory of us

ruised, broken, lost. But never one who could

e clipboard she was pretending to read. The sterile smell of antiseptic had never felt

ll beside the vending machine,

ian

orld. The boy who had turned love into a dare. The boy who had looked at her like she wa

ad seen fit to han

, disbelieving sound that die

to herself, running a hand throug

oft melody she couldn't shut off - He doe

y after all

had crept in. Her mind drifted to a conversation sh

ash

the room with the scent of chamomile. Her mother sat opposite her at the small table, her gray

yes steady. "You smile, you work, but you haven't let go" her mo

ea, avoiding her mother'

e pa

Mu

pted softly. "I know you. You carry

d. "Some things aren

"Forgiveness isn't about ease. It's about freedom. You don't have

"How do I forgive people who never said s

g they don't have to care for you to h

er throat tight. "You

y you'll be faced with something - or someone - that will make you understand

ital hallway, Clara almost

bitterly. "Is that what

om. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign - tired eyes, t

ious private school filled with children of wealth and legacy. He'd been the golden boy w

er carry books, remembered her favorite tea, even walked her home once through the rain. For a girl who'd grow

l it

riends laughing in the courtyard, the words "told you she'd fall for it" echoing

sed herself she'd never let a

l and broken - had looked at her like she w

her eyes, willing herself to

kind but weary. "Miss Hayes? The Coles have completed the arrangements. They'd li

umbly. "Of co

't have to take this if

quickly, forcing steadiness in

her for a moment, t

the chair, her

n her head again: When that day

that the past didn't own her. But sitting there, surrounded by the hum

ve? To be gracious to hersel