She didn't wipe them away.
She simply let herself cry for the entire afternoon.
She purged four years of unshed, terrifying, forbidden tears all at once, flushing her soul completely clean.
From the naïve joy she felt the day she married into the Lehman family, to the bone-chilling terror of uncovering the truth.
From enduring the relentless torment of her mother-in-law, to the absolute despair on the operating table when she heard Hackett demand the abortion.
All of her grievances, all of her resentment, all of her hopelessness.
They were all slowly washed away and stripped from her bones in that quiet, marathon of a weep, leaving with the scalding tears to remain permanently in the past.
By the end, her eyes were dry and throbbing, physically unable to shed another drop.
All that was left was an utterly hollowed-out, exhausted sense of relief.
She stood up, walked into the bathroom, and splashed freezing water over her face.
The woman staring back in the mirror had eyes swollen like walnuts and skin as pale as paper.
But deep within those eyes, something had fundamentally shifted.
They held the color of the sky immediately following a violent thunderstorm.
Clean, clear, holding absolutely nothing, but also free of any lingering shadows.
She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a box of pasta from the cabinet, and made a simple bowl of tomato spaghetti.
Sitting at the dining table, she ate every last bite.
She didn't even leave a drop of sauce in the bowl.
Once warm food hit her stomach, the feeling of actually being alive began to seep back into her limbs.
She slept incredibly deeply that night.
A completely dreamless sleep.
When she woke the next morning, she opened the floral notebook her mother had left behind.
She flipped straight to the very last page.
There, written in a script slightly smaller than the rest of the text, was a little note—like a secret her mother had whispered to herself.
She had somehow never noticed it before.

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