DIAMOND HART
Sorcha said, echoing words Starr had once used on her, and they both laughed, easy and warm, the kind of laughter that came only from two people who had fought their way back to each other and meant to hold on tightly this time.
Later, alone at her desk after everyone else had gone to bed, Starr read back through the pages she'd written so far, a story about a woman named someone else, in a life shaped just differently enough to be its own thing, but carrying, underneath every careful sentence, the unmistakable shape of everything she had actually lived and survived and finally, fully overcome.
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