My hair was windblown.
My dress was wrinkled.
Nobody had arranged the pose or approved the image.
I looked happy.
Not perfect.
Free.
I touched the frame and went to bed.
Years earlier, Cole had called me his safe place.
Perhaps I’d once been that for him.
But somewhere during our marriage, I’d made a terrible mistake.
I became so focused on making him feel safe that I stopped questioning whether he was safe for me.
Christmas Eve finally answered that question.
And at five the next morning, with two
