You still lost, Marj. You still got hurt. And losing and hurting are what I don’t want.” Her sister held her stare. “Do you honestly think you’re not losing and hurting now, as you speak?” She didn’t have an answer to that. She didn’t need to. Her heart was busy shattering into pieces. Why was that? She got out before she was even in, didn’t she? She should be congratulating herself for being spared of the certainty of heartbreak and tears. Why was she feeling like a huge part of herself was gone, replaced by a bottomless hole where regret and longing suddenly took up residence, and where questions like ‘if you were only brave enough’ and ‘what if things turn out differently than you expected’ echoed endlessly within its walls?