Beyond the paper walls

When broken pieces heal🍀

I knew what it was; I knew it the moment I saw her. Yet, I still found myself asking, as if I couldn't believe my eyes, even for a second. She sat there, a glass in her hand, blood dripping from her fingers as she stared at it blankly. The look in her eyes told me it was intentional, but I couldn't fathom why someone like Aria would do something like this. Or was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

“Aria?” I called out hesitantly.

She snapped out of her trance and looked at me. I saw the color drain from her face, as if she realized something that terrified her. Perhaps she saw something in my expression—fear, maybe? I didn’t know, but she immediately recoiled, inching back.

“Yeah? I don’t know, maybe the glass was old; it just broke on its own,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

Maybe she was telling the truth, but I couldn’t believe her, not after seeing that look. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up, all right? Just sit here.” I pointed to a chair at her dining table.

To my relief, she listened and sat down. But she couldn’t stop fidgeting, trying desperately to remove the glass shards from her hand, panic flashing in her eyes. I had no choice but to step in.

“Aria, we need to go to the ER,” I said, more firmly this time.

She shook her head, refusing, and I realized I’d have to handle this myself. Luckily, my sister was a doctor, and I knew enough to do the stitching, but I would still take her to a professional once she calmed down.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” I said, keeping my tone calm and reassuring.

“Okay.” For once, she didn’t argue, which was unusual. As I worked, I noticed the scars. This wasn’t the first time she had done this. The realization hit me like a punch to the chest.

“Are you okay now?” I asked once I was done.

“Yeah.” She avoided my eyes, giving me nothing.

“Can we move past ‘yeah’ and ‘okay’ already?” I pressed.

“I... I don’t know. Weren’t you mad at me?” She glanced down at her stitched-up hand.

“No. I don’t even remember why I was mad,” I admitted.

“Oh. I said some mean things to you, and...”

“It’s okay, Aria. Let’s move past that. I get it; you weren’t well. It happens.”

“I... I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Hearing her apologize was new. Aria never said sorry—not when she spilled coffee on me minutes before an important meeting, not when she “accidentally” ruined my laptop with crucial files on it. Never. But here she was, apologizing.

“It’s okay. I understand. Now, tell me what happened.” I held her hand to reassure her.

“Nothing.”

“Aria, something happened. You need to tell me, or I’ll genuinely get mad this time.”

She sighed, defeated. “I just... I was feeling lonely, and my therapist made it worse by bringing up something from my past.”

My heart ached as she continued, recounting the therapy session and how she ended up in this state. She admitted she’d been doing this for as long as she could remember because the pain was a distraction from deeper distress. It struck me how people could be so cruel without realizing it. The woman before me wasn’t the tough, unyielding Aria everyone saw; she was a little girl who had never been loved, never cared for, never given what she deserved.

It was moments like this that reminded me why I tried so hard for Alaana. I didn’t want her to grow up with the kind of pain Aria carried. Six years ago, Aria had worked for me, and we’d had a Christmas tradition: a wish tree where people could leave anonymous notes of their troubles. I’d expected a hate note from her, directed at me. What I found instead changed everything. It revealed a pain so profound that I stopped hating her that day.

Now, here she was, sharing that pain openly for the first time. I wanted to hug her, to promise her everything would be okay.

“I know you’re going to be happy one day. You’ll find love, have a beautiful family, and little babies. One day, you’ll look back at this and tell your past self to be patient and love herself until someone comes along who loves her more than anything.”

“Really?” she asked, trying to hide her tears.

“Yes, of course. You deserve all the happiness in the world.” I let go of her hand and gently wiped away her tears. Without thinking, I kissed her forehead, letting her know I was there, no matter what. We stayed like that for a moment, foreheads touching, before I stood to clean up.

Later, I returned with Alaana and Theo. I made dinner—Aria’s favorite lasagna. She played with the kids and even looked happy at times, but I knew deep down she wasn’t. After dinner, we watched Alaana’s favorite movie, Tangled, until she fell asleep. Aria, however, was still playing with Theo, who adored her more than she admitted.

I glanced at her and said, “Can we be friends?” It was my way of telling her I didn’t see us as enemies anymore.

“Yeah, you desperately need some,” she said, smirking.

“I do. But I didn’t know my standards were low enough to ask you,” I teased back.

“Oh, but I’m sure I can handle a charity case like you.” She tried not to laugh.

“Hmm, maybe we’re better as enemies. Screw you.”

For the first time, I heard her laugh, a genuine sound that filled the room.

“It’s not my fault you make being likable such hard work,” she said with a smirk.

“Has anyone ever told you to try silence as a hobby?”

She laughed, and for once, I felt like we were more than broken pieces trying to fit together.

                                            For Her

I would mend the pieces she’s lost,
Sew every scar, no matter the cost.
Give her parts of me, if only she knew,
To make her feel whole, to help her breakthrough.

I’d break myself a thousand times,
If it means her heart could heal in rhymes.
Lose myself a hundred times over,
Just to see her smile, to bring her closer.

I’d give my last breath, my final sigh,
To hear her laugh, to see her fly.
For in that sound, my world would spin,
I’d die happy, knowing that joy was within.

🥀🥀🥀