Years Later
Regina hissed the moment she stepped out of the restaurant, the heat from the kitchen still clinging to her skin like a bad memory.
Neon lights flickered overhead, the sign buzzing like it was half-dead...fitting, really. Her clothes were clean and proper. Not expensive, but not pathetic either. Black jeans that hugged her hips, a fitted jacket zipped halfway, boots scuffed from use, not neglect. Her hair was combed back neatly, no longer the tangled mess depression used to carve into her mornings. Her skin had cleared, scars faded, eyes sharper.
She looked good and her stomach...flat as f**k.
Years ago, she’d pushed babies out of her body screaming, and bleeding. Years ago, her body had been wreckage. Now? It was proof of survival. Proof that pain didn’t get to own her f
