The seventeenth week, Christabel showed Damien the photographs.
Not of them.
Of her.
The woman she used to be.
And he fell in love with her all over again.
---
She brought the box to the living room.
Set it on the coffee table.
Sat on the couch.
"I've been keeping these for years," she said. "I haven't looked at them since before Lena."
"Why not?"
"Because I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of remembering who I used to be. Of wanting to go back. Of realizing that I've lost myself completely."
He sat beside her.
"You haven't lost yourself."
"Then why does it feel like I have?"
"Because you've been focused on everyone else. Your daughter. Your husband. Your company. You forgot to save some of yourself for yourself."
She opened the box.
---
The first photograph was of her as a child.
Maybe five years old. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A smile that was missing teeth.
"This is you," Damien said.
"This was me."
"You look the same."
"I look like a child."
"You look like Lena."
She stared at the photograph.
"She does look like me."
"She looks exactly like you."
---
The second photograph was of her as a teenager.
Maybe fifteen. Awkward. Angry. Standing in front of a school she had hated.
"I was so unhappy," she said.
"You look unhappy."
"I was angry at everyone. My mother. My father. The world."
"What changed?"
"I left." She touched the photograph. "I built my own life. My own company. My own self."
"And then you met me."
"And then I met you."
---
The third photograph was of her in her twenties.
Standing in front of her first office. Small. Bare. But hers.
"I was so proud," she said.
"You should have been."
"I built that company from nothing."
"I know."
"I was unstoppable."
"You still are."
She looked at him.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
---
The fourth photograph was of her with Sarah.
Both of them laughing. Both of them young. Both of them full of hope.
"I miss her," Christabel said.
"She's right upstairs."
"I know. But I miss the her from this photograph. The one who didn't have to be strong all the time."
"She's still there."
"Where?"
"Underneath. Waiting."
---
The fifth photograph was of her alone.
Standing on a rooftop. Looking out at a city she had conquered.
"This is my favorite," she said.
"Why?"
"Because this is who I was. Right before you. Right before everything changed."
"She looks happy."
"She was happy."
"Not happier than now."
She looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Because now you have me. Now you have Lena. Now you have a family."
"I had a family before."
"You had Sarah. You had a company. You had a city. You didn't have someone who loved you."
"I loved myself."
"I know." He touched her face. "That's why I fell in love with you."
---
She put the photographs back in the box.
Closed the lid.
"That's enough for today," she said.
"We can look at more tomorrow."
"If you want."
"I want."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For asking that question. For making me remember. For not letting me forget who I am."
"You're not going to forget."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm not going to let you."
---
That night, Lena woke at midnight.
Crying. Hungry.
Christabel went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
"Hi, baby," she said.
Lena cried.
"I know," Christabel said. "You're hungry. You're wet. You're cold. I'm sorry. Mommy was looking at photographs."
Lena stopped crying.
Looked up at her mother.
"I was looking at who I used to be," Christabel said. "Before you. Before your father. Before all of this."
Lena cooed.
"I was happy then. But I'm happier now."
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's up," he said.
"She's hungry."
"I'll make a bottle."
"She wants to nurse."
He walked to her.
Sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
"Can I see the photographs again tomorrow?"
"If you want."
"I want."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know you. All of you. Not just the woman you are now. The woman you were. The woman you're becoming."
She looked at him.
"You already know me."
"I know parts of you."
"What parts?"
"The parts you let me see."
---
Lena finished nursing.
Fell asleep against Christabel's chest.
"She's out," Christabel said.
"She's perfect."
"She's ours."
Damien stood.
Took Lena from her arms.
Laid her in the crib.
Then he walked back to Christabel.
Took her hand.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"The garden."
---
They sat on the bench beneath the tree.
The city was dark. The stars were bright.
"I want to tell you something," Damien said.
"What?"
"I was alone before you. Not because I didn't have people around me. Because I didn't let anyone in."
"I know."
"I was afraid of being hurt. Of being left. Of being forgotten."
"I know."
"And then I met you."
"And then you met me."
"And I wasn't afraid anymore."
She looked at him.
"Were you really not afraid?"
"I was terrified." He took her hand. "But I stayed anyway."
"That's bravery."
"That's love."
---
They stayed in the garden until the sun came up.
Talking.
Not about business. Not about enemies. Not about the war.
About her.
About the woman she used to be. About the woman she was becoming. About the woman she wanted to be.
"I want to be someone who reads books," she said. "Who takes baths. Who stays up late watching movies that make me cry."
"You can be."
"I want to be someone who dances."
"You can be."
"I want to be someone who isn't afraid."
He pulled her close.
"Then be her. Today. Tomorrow. Every day."
---
The next morning, she woke before Lena.
Not because the baby was crying. Because she wanted to.
She walked to the nursery.
Stood over the crib.
Lena was sleeping. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"Good morning, little one," Christabel whispered.
Lena didn't stir.
"Your father looked at photographs of me yesterday. Of who I used to be."
She touched Lena's cheek.
"He fell in love with me all over again."
---
Damien found her in the kitchen.
Making breakfast.
Not eggs. Not pancakes. Not something new.
Something old.
Something she used to make before.
"What is that?" he asked.
"French toast."
"It smells good."
"It smells like my childhood."
He sat at the kitchen island.
Watched her move around the kitchen.
"You're staring," she said.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
She set a plate in front of him.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you even when I don't know who I am."
He took her hand.
"I love you because you don't know who you are. Because you're trying to figure it out. Because you're not giving up."
"I wanted to give up."
"But you didn't."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
---
She sat beside him.
Ate her breakfast.
Talked about the future.
Not the distant future. The near future. The next week. The next month. The next small step.
"I want to take a dance class," she said.
"Then take one."
"I want to read a book a week."
"Then read."
"I want to be the woman in those photographs."
He touched her face.
"You already are. You just forgot."
"And now?"
"Now you're remembering."