Emily arranged college counseling and continued her medical follow-ups.
I assisted with budgeting without assuming her financial obligations.
Several weeks later, she visited home for the weekend.
Most bandages had been removed, though some swelling persisted.
One morning, I discovered her examining her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Do you hate it?” she asked.
“Your face?”
She nodded.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Do you think I ruined it?”
I approached her.
“I think you’re still healing. And what happened to you matters more than whether I approve of the result.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I thought I’d wake up after surgery and finally feel beautiful.”
“Do you?”
“Sometimes. But then I remember everything Ryan said.”
I wrapped an arm around her.
“Those memories won’t disappear just because your face has changed.”
“I know.”
After a pause, she asked, “Do you wish I hadn’t done it?”
“I wish you hadn’t felt you needed to. And I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me what was happening.”
