I’d rather be seen exactly as I was.
“Bald, and telling the truth,” I added, “beats a wig and a lie. Every single time.”
May you like
Miles laughed, quietly, for what I think was the first time in weeks — and something in my chest, tight since the morning I first touched bare skin where my hair should have been, finally, completely let go.
The trust was eventually restructured entirely in Miles’s name alone, at his own insistence, with a clause neither Edwin nor I had ever thought we’d need to write: that no future marriage would ever again be treated as a shortcut to anything either of us had spent a lifetime building.
