“Down to the scalp.”

The buzz of the clippers felt, strangely, like relief.

As the last of the hair Marius used to touch fell away, my face came out from behind it — sharper than I remembered, the cheekbones and the jaw I had spent a decade softening for a man who wanted me soft.

I did not look ill.

I did not look broken.

I looked like myself, finally, with nothing left to hide behind.