Her reflection smiled back.
It started in middle school, when a boy named Kyle flicked the strap of her training bra and said, “Maybe try harder.” It continued through high school, college, every job she ever held, every beach she’d visited in a damp, sand-filled one-piece while her friends strutted in bikinis. She’d mastered the art of disappearing into oversized sweaters and dark jeans, of crossing her arms over her stomach when she laughed, of turning off the bathroom light before stepping on the scale. Purenudism Junior Miss Nudist Beauty Pageant
That night, she stood alone by the pond. The moon was a perfect crescent, and the water was black glass. She looked down at her body—pale and imperfect and entirely hers—and for the first time, she didn’t see flaws. Her reflection smiled back
And then she did something extraordinary. She pointed to her own body—the curved spine, the loose skin on her arms, the surgical scar snaking down her sternum. “This one survived cancer. This one survived a husband who didn’t love her enough. This one survived sixty years of hating her thighs before she realized they carried her everywhere she ever needed to go.” That night, she stood alone by the pond
“You’re naked,” Emma hissed, looking anywhere but at him.
Then she drove home, windows down, wind on her bare arms, and did not cross them over her chest.