Not the face her mother had tried to erase. Not the perfect, silent mask she wore at home. She drew the face she had hidden: the face that had laughed at a joke last week before clamping shut; the face that had wanted to sing in the school choir; the face with eyes that still, somehow, burned with a quiet, stubborn light.
Elara shrugged. “I don’t know what I look like.” maternal maltreatment facialabuse
She was the artist now. If this topic resonates with you personally, please know that support is available. You are not what was done to you. Not the face her mother had tried to erase
Elara was seven when she learned that a face could be a crime scene. the face with eyes that still