I prepared a suitcase, hid my savings inside my coat and boarded a bus heading to the city before dawn.
There I found work in a small bakery owned by an older woman named Rosa Bennett. Rosa was strict, but kind. He taught me how to make bread, decorate cakes, handle the cash register and talk to customers without looking down.
For the first time in many years, no one knew my past.
So, when I was twenty-five, a man named Samuel Carter walked into the bakery during a storm.
He was soaked and carrying a broken umbrella.
“Do you sell coffee strong enough to save a dying man?” he asked.
I laughed before I could hold back.
Samuel returned the next day.
And then he came back the following week.
He never pushed me. When I was silent, I respected my silence. When I spoke, I listened.
One night, in the light of a streetlight, he told me he loved me.
Makeup at night
Several weeks later, I finally revealed a part of my past.
“I was married once,” I said. My husband left me the morning after our wedding because he told everyone that I was not a virgin.
I waited for Samuel to look at me disgustedly.
Instead, his eyes were filled with pain.
