Melissa looked back at Roxanne.
"I cannot pretend the things you said did not cut," she said.
"I know."
"I cannot pretend I did not believe you meant them."
"I know."
"And I cannot promise I will become gracious overnight, because I have never enjoyed lying unless professionally required."
Another laugh broke through Roxanne's tears.
"But I can understand now," Melissa said. "And I can stop aiming at you for wounds someone else arranged."
Roxanne looked at her then; the damp hair gathered neatly at Melissa's nape. At the dark sweater, the eyes that were no longer cold in the way Roxanne remembered.
Cool, yes. Guarded, certainly. But not closed.
Something inside Roxanne shifted.
Not healed. Healing was not a switch. It was not one conversation, one hand, one moonlit gesture.
People loved to write healing like a door opening all at once, but real healing was closer to unpaid labor:
