After he left, I sent the photograph to Olive.
She replied almost immediately.
You both look so happy!
I looked at the picture again.
Ryan had once taken a photograph of me without asking.
He had used it to make me ashamed of the body that had carried our daughter.
This time, I had asked for the picture.
I looked tired.
I looked different.
I looked like a woman four months after giving birth.
I looked like Emma’s mother.
And for the first time since I discovered that group chat, I didn’t zoom in on my stomach.
I didn’t study my face.
I didn’t wonder whether I looked enough like the woman Ryan had married.
I simply looked at myself.
And smiled.
Because whether Ryan eventually earned his way back into our marriage or not, I finally understood something he should have understood from the beginning.