Teresa

Two days after the entire stunning revelation of who Clara was, I stood before the closet mirror, staring at the reflection of a woman I didn’t think was me staring back.

The silver earrings hanging from my ears barely swayed. My face was tired, but determination burned in my eyes.

The woman who looked back at me wasn’t the woman chained by silver and locked in a grey room. She wasn’t the mother crying over dead babies and miscarriages in the middle of the night.

This ...