Her throat tightened. For the first time in her life, her birthmark didn’t feel like a curse.
Through winter and into spring, their partnership grew. Clara proved to be not only a loving companion but also a brilliant manager, expanding Harold’s business with clever ideas that surprised him. Harold, in return, shielded her from gossip, making it known in town that anyone who mocked his wife mocked him too.
Years later, Clara would look back on those early days and smile. She had entered the farmhouse with trembling hands and a wounded spirit, but she had found something greater than acceptance.
In Harold’s laughter, in the warmth of his family, and in the small, daily gestures of care, she discovered that true love is not found in perfection or appearances. It is found in the courage to see—and be seen—exactly as you are.
On a bright spring morning, Clara stood in the yard, her children running through the tall grass, Harold’s laughter echoing behind them. She touched the mark on her face, once a source of pain, now just a part of her story.
She no longer felt cursed. She felt chosen.
And in that moment, she knew she had finally come home.
