Chapter 11 - THE LIGHT WE FOUND
One year later, the autumn air was crisp and smelled of falling leaves.
We didn't go back to the little white church. Instead, we stood on the balcony of our new, sunlit apartment overlooking the city. Callahan was playing a soft, joyous melody on the grand piano we had squeezed into the living room.
I walked over and sat beside him on the bench. I wore a silk dress with thin straps, my scarred shoulders and neck completely bare to the afternoon sun. I didn't flinch when the delivery boy knocked on the door earlier, and I didn't hide when we went out for coffee.
Callahan stopped playing and reached out, his fingers finding my face. He traced the familiar ridges of my scars, the landscape he had mapped on our wedding night.
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"You feel warm," he smiled. "You feel like the sun."
"I am," I told him, leaning into his hand, knowing that true love doesn't require a flawless surface. It only requires a foundation strong enough to survive the fire. I had married a blind man to hide my scars, but he was the only person who ever truly taught me how to see myself.
