Chapter 3 - The Mirror’s Edge
By the fourth day, the only things remaining covered were the bathroom mirror and the large observation window. Noah had become protective of these last two outposts. He was waiting for Dr. Cole.
The surgeon arrived at noon, a man of precise movements and compassionate eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and explained the reality of the surgery—the nerve graft, the tissue shift, the long process of facial physical therapy. He was brutally honest. He told her there would be permanent changes, that she would never look exactly as she did before, but that her functionality would return.
Noah stood by the bathroom door, his hand resting on the tape.
When Dr. Cole finished, he looked at the boy. “Noah, the mirrors aren’t enemies.”
Noah looked at his mother. Sarah looked back at him, her gaze steady. She was finally ready. She reached out and took Noah’s hand. Together, they walked toward the bathroom.
I stayed in the room, watching the back of the child and the mother as they approached the covered mirror. Mark was standing by the window, his hand gripping the frame, his knuckles white. He looked like he was bracing for an impact.
Noah peeled the tape back. The towel fell away.
Sarah looked at her reflection. She saw the bruising, the swelling, the uneven curve of her mouth, the stitches that marked her journey. She didn't flinch. She traced the line of the scar with her finger, and then she turned to her son.
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She didn't cry. She smiled—a crooked, beautiful smile that looked exactly like the one Noah had drawn on the paper figures.
"I'm still here," she said.
