I can tell from the look in her eye that she didn’t mean to do that. She didn’t mean to stop me. It wasautomatic, instinctive. Purely primal.
“I… I’m sorry,” she says again. But she doesn’t quite let go.
“Stop apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
I want to shake her like a ragdoll to free these self-hating thoughts from her brain. I want to force herto look in a mirror and see what I see: a strong woman. A proud woman. A fierce woman.
“I let him go…” she murmurs.
“He attacked you,” I repeat, my hand rising again to her face. “What choice did you have?”
“There’s always a choice,” she says softly. “Even in impossible situations, there’s always a choice.”
“Charlotte,” I say, looking at her with concern. “You need to get some rest.”
“Try anyway,” I insist. “You need it.”
She opens
