“Go on,” he said.
I knelt down and pulled off the blankets.
The frame was whole again. Dark walnut, polished so it glowed. The corner where it had split was seamless. I ran my finger over it and couldn’t feel the join. The carved roses were at the top, just like always. And the one with the chip had a new petal, carved so carefully that I had to look three times to find it. It was just a tiny bit lighter than the rest.
And inside the frame was the new glass.
Ezoic
Clear. Perfectly clear. Not a ripple in it.
Ezoic
I looked into it, and for the first time in my life, my reflection didn’t look like it was standing underwater. It was just me. Thirty-seven years old, in a sweatshirt with paint on the sleeve, with my hair in a messy bun and tears running down my face.
