I would see a mother and daughter in the grocery store arguing gently over cereal, and it would hit me so hard I had to stand still by the paper towels until I could breathe.
I would hear my phone buzz and feel my stomach tighten before I remembered they no longer had direct access to me.
Healing did not make me cold.
It made me accurate.
I learned that love does not always arrive with the same last name.
Sometimes love is your husband sleeping in a chair that ruins his back.
Sometimes it is your coworker saving every time stamp because she knows someone will lie later.
Sometimes it is a nurse with silver braids remembering that you like extra ice.
And sometimes self-respect is not a speech.
It is a changed lock.
It is a saved screenshot.
It is one dollar sent to the people who thought your life was worth less than their next demand.
My family never came to the hospital.
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