The tiara was never what made someone worthy.
It was simply a piece of metal and diamonds.
I had survived eighteen months of chemotherapy.
I had survived doctors telling me there were no guarantees.
I had survived nights when I wondered if I would ever see my wedding day.
I didn’t need a wig to prove I was beautiful.
I never did.
Chloe stared at me.
The confidence on her face slowly disappeared.
“What are you doing?”
