The moment-when I could no longer face myself in the mirror-wasn't easily explained; nor was the oppressive misery I experienced once I finally became the person I was meant to be but then realized with terrific horror how much I still hated her.
Staring over him in the dim light of a side lamp, my tired eyes traced along the path of faint, yet emerging, lines etched around his equally-tired eyes. They'd become a permanent reminder of his ever-smiling face, and I wishedβeven after all of these years together-that I could absorb some of his contentment.