I turned my face away from her slowly, pulled a few napkins from the counter, and dabbed at my cheek as tears threatened to fall—not from weakness, but from the strain of holding it all in. The stinging feeling of having to lower your dignity, to render yourself helpless, even when every part of you screamed to fight back—it was unbearable.
But I had to do it. I had to swallow my pride and do what was right. I turned away and walked without looking back.
Because if I turned around, I might not be able to stop myself. And there was so much at stake if that ever happened.
I turned, my back straight and shoulders squared, not because I felt strong, but because I refused to let my brokenness show. I felt the eyes of the cafeteria on me, the whispers growing louder behind me like a choir of
