It was pointed at a lie, and the lie does not deserve it, but the loving itself came from a real and living place in me, and I will not let his deception convince me that I was a fool for feeling it.

A woman who can love again after such a loss is not a fool.

She is brave.

He simply took that bravery and stood in its path wearing a stolen face.

And I have decided that the theft does not get to be the last word on my own heart.

Yes, I loved a lie.

But the machinery of loving, the willingness to open again after being broken, the hope, the tenderness, all of that was mine and remains mine, undamaged by where it happened to land.

He does not get to make me afraid of my own capacity to love, because if he did, he would have taken from me the one thing I most need in order to raise my daughter and build whatever life comes next.