The broken one knew the scars would be there forever. She knew the healing would last a lifetime. But she also knew there was hope for a brighter, happier, more peaceful future. The other (who needed to be gone) was gone. Her survival was proof of his departure.
Minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day, the memories slowed and existing became bearable again. Ruined holidays were replaced with happier times. Eventually, she ceased begging God to take her home. From brokenness came beauty. Life became good.
Here are images from the same broken doll I wrote of last week in Broken One: The Doll. I used a flat-bed scanner (see Deviant Dolls) and made images while controlling position and light. I used no software manipulation other than to normalize the contrast.