I could see she was weary, a shadow of her past. The light that had once shone from her eyes, now dimmed. Words failed her. She had emptied out a million little broken pieces. It was sad. She had been hurt so much, she accepted it.
Her voice, a mere whisper, spoke. “When will we understand? To hurt one is to hurt all. This is the fault in our stars. It is the simplest of truths; we are all connected.”
I loved her more in that moment: beaten down, raw, and still standing. She was the strongest woman I knew.
you are here for the story
That’s a refreshing attitude. Most men would not see it that way.
I had assumed it was a man speaking. I suppose it could have been a woman too.
The voice is of a woman. There must be a few good men.