Will I ever get control of my life? Will I always be shoved back and pushed around by those I trust?

I’m going to be mentally ill in fifteen years, and that’s why my husband doesn’t want to be around me.

She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.

My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax. Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air. I open my eyes to bright moonlight. And Hannah, with warmth. Thank you.

After all, how often do we get a second chance?

And as I stood there in the hallway―alone―trying to understand what had just happened and why, I realized the truth: I wasn't worth an explanation―not even a reaction. Not in your eyes.

We all know the sound a camera makes when it snaps a picture. Even some of the digitals do it for nostalgia’s sake.