Our love to hide
Vanessa stood up, walked toward the sliding glass door, and looked out at the garden shed built over twenty years of roses, neatly trimmed hedges, and a small stone bench.
“I spent half my life being polite,” she said. “Doing what was expected. Smiling when it hurts. Holding my tongue so others wouldn’t feel discomfort.”
Sarah said nothing.
“And the truth?” Vanessa turned back, her eyes glinting with something ancient and bruised. “The truth is that I once fell in love with a woman.”
The silence cracked open between them.
Sarah blinked. “What?”
“Her name was Camille. We met in college.
She played cello, hated rain, and loved Sylvia Plath. We kissed once under a streetlamp during finals week,
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