Ever since I could remember, people had mocked my nose.
It all started in high school.
“There’s the beak!” the boys shouted every time I entered the classroom.
The girls left witch drawings on my desk, and even someone wrote in the wardrobe mirror:
“Natalie, no boy will ever love you.s”
Over the years, I learned to pretend I didn’t listen to them.
I learned to pose only in profile in the photographs, to bow my head while I was talking and to avoid the shop windows so as not to find myself accidentally with my own reflection.
Then I met Andrew.
He was the first man who looked
