Take Care, Sara

I’ve had it in my eyes many times. You love him,” she stated bluntly.
    She looked at the partially eaten cinnamon roll, fingers tightly clenched around the coffee mug. “I do.”
    “You love him, yet you’re here. Why?”
    “My husband—“
    “Is dead,” Dana interrupted, moving to the door. “I’ve kept tabs on you, dear, especially after your parents passed. You always intrigued me. Such a somber young child; not talking much, always observing. You were special, even as a child. And obviously there’s a man out there that feels the same. Some people aren’t lucky enough to find love once, and you’ve found it twice. Remember that.”
    ***
    Who are you? Sara stared at her lightly tanned reflection, waiting for a response that only she could provide. Her brown eyes were brighter than they’d been in recent months, but a hint of sadness could still be deciphered, if one really looked. Sara swiped hair behind her ears and leaned toward the mirror, searching for a glimpse of the woman she’d been two years ago, before the wreck that had splintered her life apart into tiny pieces had occurred.
    Sara couldn’t find her. She couldn’t remember who she used to be. That woman was lost, gone, never to be found again. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be found. Maybe finding herself wasn’t about going back to who she used to be, but instead was about accepting everything and learning to live, not in spite of, but because of, all she’d gone through. Maybe this woman, looking back at her, was the Sara she was meant to be. Scarred in all ways, slightly ruined, imperfect, but alive.
    The girl who’d lost her parents and found hope in a man when she’d worried it was all but gone; that wasn’t her. The young woman broken by the loss of a child and repaired in the eyes of her love wasn’t her either. And the woman weak and full of self-hate and regrets; grieving for all she could not change and was unable to live without; that was no longer Sara as well. This was her, whoever she was; this woman staring back at her. Remade, reborn, reconstructed into a woman able to hope and love not in spite of what she’d been through, but because of it. 
    She turned the light off and left the bathroom, the pull too strong to ignore. Sara scrolled through the saved names on the cell phone, pausing on Cole . Her thumb caressed the name and number, the pang in her heart bittersweet, but not overwhelming as it used to be. She hit Send just to hear his rough voice drawl on the voicemail: “I ain’t here so call Sara. Don’t leave a message. You know I won’t listen to it.”
    A smile stretched her lips and Sara let her head fall forward, her hair blanketing the sides of her face. She closed her eyes and memories and scents and touches enveloped her, peace coming with them for the first time. She hadn’t had the heart to disconnect the service to Cole’s phone, but it was something she would do when she returned to Boscobel.
    The phone rang, startling her. Sara fumbled not to drop it and stared at the screen. It was Lincoln. She shouldn’t be surprised, since he hadn’t missed a day in the past five weeks since she’d been gone, but she always feared one day there wouldn’t be a phone call from him. Sara was frightened that one day he’d realize it was too much trouble; loving her.
    “Hello?” When Lincoln didn’t speak, and she’d been fairly positive he wouldn’t, Sara began, “It’s so beautiful here, Lincoln. The scenery is green, lush, peaceful. You’re probably wondering where here is, aren’t you? About that…I didn’t tell you not because I didn’t want you to follow and I was afraid you would. That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid if I did, I’d be the one to leave before I should; I’d be the one to run back to you before I’d found myself. Not that that has happened anyway. The finding me part. I don’t know if I can. Or if that’s what I’m supposed to be doing.
    “I mean, I got part of what I wanted. I do feel better. I do feel a peace I didn’t before I left. The rest…I’m finding it as I go. I’m finding…me. I think. I still don’t know who I am or who I’m supposed to be. Maybe I’m not supposed to figure that out and that’s what I had to figure out.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
    “I suppose you’re wondering why I had to travel all the way to where I did to figure myself or not figure myself out. I don’t know. To get away from