“Hold me?” She asks with a small tilt of the head and a sweet smile so melancholic that it ripped her heart in half. A burning sensation built up in the corners of her eyes as she reached out and pressed her cold, shaking hands against her face.
She pulled the other close, letting her bury her face into her shoulder while she rested her cheek on the top of her head. Slowly her fingers brushed through her hair, arm wrapped carefully around her shoulders in such a way that it was if she was scared of her breaking her.
She wanted to caress her cheeks and wipe away the tears she was sure was there. She wanted to hold her forever and protect her from all of the harmful things people would say. What they did say. Parents swore to love their children, to die for them. They were supposed to be a source of unending love. And yet just one fact- a single thing- sent that love into denial and hatred.
Because everything could be forgiven.
Except for that.
“I’m broken,” she whispered. “Why did God make me broken?”