I’m embarrassed. And hurt. And so stupid.

Why was I counting on this? I could see myself with him. I could see us making homemade ice cream on his porch or kissing in the rain. Going grocery shopping. Curling up on the couch with popcorn and a movie.

He kissed me before he left. He kissed me the way a man kisses a woman he won’t forget.

And now he’s back, and he looks at me like I’m a stranger.

Is it because of his injury? Is it post-traumatic stress? Or were his feelings just not strong enough?

I want to make him talk. I know what it’s like keeping feelings, secrets, bottled up. It’s poison. It eats at you from the inside out. But it’s not my place. At least I don’t think it is. Hell, I don’t know what my place is. I’ve never had a place before.

I’ve never had permission to speak up or call someone out. And I’m still waiting for permission. That makes me angry with myself. Why can’t I be strong? Why is it this constant battle of second-guessing myself and hoping someone will do right by me? Why can’t I be like Harper or Sophie? They’re so confident and real, and if someone tried to take something from them, they’d laugh in their faces.

Why can’t I be like that?

Will I ever be like that?

And don’t say “give it time.” I’m tired of waiting. Why not now?

I’m tired of feeling stuck. I think I was waiting to begin my life until Aldo came home, which by the way, is exactly what he asked me not to do. So now what’s stopping me from finding a place to live? Or signing up for some online courses? Or dating?

Okay, maybe not dating. I danced with a gorgeous firefighter who flirted with me, and I felt nothing. So maybe that part of me is still…damaged.

I got another letter this week. And I’m more upset about Aldo rejecting me than Glenn threatening me? It’s humiliating. Why am I letting either man affect me? One’s behind bars, and the other has made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with me.

I want to be my own damn hero. It would be a nice change from being my own biggest problem.

When did I decide that my worth came from how someone else sees me? Does that happen when a girl grows up without a father to tell her she’s smart and kind and pretty and worth so much more than the scraps of attention users will throw her way?

Or was I born hungry for someone else’s opinions?

I don’t even know what I think about myself. Am I smart? Am I organized? Am I a good person? Or am I just a collection of all the damage I’ve allowed someone to do to me?

And if so, how do I become my own hero? Because I’m ready. I’m done being damaged and fragile and careful and scared. I’m done.