Perfect Imperfections

"In those moments," Abby admitted, her vulnerability laid bare, "I felt so small, so powerless." Remo gently wiped away a tear that escaped, his touch offering a solace that went beyond words. "Even now," she whispered, "it's hard to let people touch my hair. It's a reminder of those painful times."

Abby, her voice barely above a whisper, continued sharing the painful layers of her past with Remo. "They filled my head with words—disgusting, repulsive, and ugly. It echoed in my mind until I started believing it." She paused, a heavy silence hanging in the air as she confronted the lingering echoes of hurtful memories.

"That's why I started stammering," she confessed, her vulnerability laid bare. "I was afraid to express myself, afraid that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be enough. I became the weird one, always tiptoeing around words, trying not to give them more ammunition."