I stepped away.
“The woman you thought would never see you again is standing right here. And I see everything.”
Then I left without another word.
Several weeks later, I sat beside the window in my own small apartment.
The Christmas lights I had finally hung shimmered across the glass in the evening light.
Marissa knocked on the door carrying takeout containers and a bottle of wine.
“You look different,” she said, smiling.
A brief note from Penelope rested on the counter.
Only one sentence.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.”
I looked toward the lights, then at my reflection in the window.
Losing my eyesight had taught me to depend on others.
Getting it back taught me to depend on myself.
