Chapter 67
- Isabella
- The woods behind the cottage had become my version of therapy. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t bring up publishing scandals, poisoned fathers, or ex–stepsiblings who could lie with a smile and steal everything you’d ever written. The trees didn’t care that I hadn’t brushed my hair or that I sometimes forgot what day it was. They didn’t ask me to smile or be brave.
- They just let me walk.