she’d married a man who’d do to her exactly what he did to you. Just later.”
I didn’t feel happy about it. I thought I would. I didn’t.
I just felt sad. For Claire. For the girl who’d been so proud of her perfect waist.
She’d learn, like I learned. A body is not a promise anybody else gets to hold you to.
In November, Claire sent me a message.
It was the first time she’d ever contacted me directly. It came through Facebook. Short.
“Hannah. I’m sorry. For everything. I believed him when he told me you didn’t care about your family. I see now I was wrong about a lot of things. I hope your girls are okay. Claire.”
I read it three times.
Then I wrote back.
“Thank you, Claire. The girls are okay. I hope you’re okay too. Be good to yourself. You deserve that. We
