Respect.
Repair.
And sometimes consequences.
There is one photograph from Florida that I keep framed in our hallway.
It was taken near sunset.
Maya is walking out of the Gulf.
Her hair is wet.
Her shoulders are bare.
Her birthmarks are completely visible.
Liam caught her laughing at something outside the frame.
The photograph is not perfect.
The horizon tilts slightly.
A stranger’s beach chair appears in one corner.
No one is posed.
No one is looking at the camera.
Gwen once would have deleted it.
Now it is my favorite.
Not because Maya’s birthmarks make it inspirational.
I hate that kind of thinking too.
Maya does not exist to teach strangers a lesson about courage.
It is my favorite because she looks free.
That week, freedom lasted only a few days before someone she loved tried
to make her ashamed again.
But shame did not win permanently.
Neither did
