Page 1 of Jessica's Hero
CHAPTER 1
JESSICA
Maybe this year reallywillbe the best one yet.
Though I’m only four days into the new year, my single New Year’s Eve wish—not a resolution, but the same wish I’ve made every year since I was eighteen—feels like it could be within reach.
Please let this year be the one when my life turns around.
Let this year be the one when people stop judging me for a mistake I made nearly twenty years ago. When gazes don’t linger on the reminders I’ll carry for the rest of my life. When I can achieve the things I always dreamed of.
A home filled with love instead of a house haunted with too many memories.
True friends; ones who’ll stand by my side when cruel words are flung at me.
A man who’ll treat me with kindness and affection, who might even think I’m beautiful, despite all the evidence to the contrary.
And forgiveness.
I think I want that most of all.
And today, as I walk out of the office, the freshly fallen snow adding a cleansing snap to the air, tiny wisps of flurries dancing in the breeze, a lightness fills me. A cautious hope that warms me from the inside, fizzing with possibilities.
While January evenings in New York aren’t typically something to look forward to—right now the temperature is hovering just below thirty and it’s only supposed to get colder through the rest of the week—I’m not in the same hurry to get home like I usually am.
With the exception of my monthly meeting at the community center, I usually make a beeline home after work, choosing to wait to do my grocery shopping and other errands until a time when there are fewer people around.
Maybe it’s because things have been going so well today that I’m inspired to break my routine.
Rather than waiting to buy my groceries until much later—I’ve found nine PM is the best time to go food shopping, just an hour before closing, when the only people left in the store are the skeleton crew—I decide to risk hitting the store at a more normal time. A time when I’m certain to come across at least ten people I know in the crowded aisles of the Sleepy Hollow Shop and Save. Because when you grew up in a small town and move back there as an adult, anonymity is basically impossible.
But today, I feel ready to face the stares and clipped comments and whispers behind my back.
Mostly.
As I sat in my little closet of an office eating lunch today, I sorted through all the good things I already have going for me this year.
A promotion, effective two weeks from now, from junior lab technologist to senior, now overseeing six other people’s work. An open invitation to a weekly reality-TV-watching night, hosted by Ari and Thea, old friends from back in high school. And coffee this Sunday with my newest friend, Nora, a woman I admire more than any other I’ve met.
Nora is brave. Confident. She wouldn’t let what other people say bother her.
But she’s also beautiful and married to a man who adores her, so it’s a bit different from my experience.
Still. She thinks I’m worthy of her friendship. So I must be doingsomethingright.
As I slip into my car and look into the mirror on the still-flipped-down visor, I catch myself actually smiling. And not one of those forced ones I give my coworkers after I walk into a room and they all stop talking. But a real one. One that lights up my eyes, turning them more gold than green, and puts a tiny flush of pleasure on my cheeks.
In the tiny mirror, it’s easier to focus on the positives. My hazel eyes that shift from green to honey depending on my mood. My long lashes that never need mascara and the little dimple that pops out when I smile. And my long, dark-chocolate hair that’s looking especially shiny after the deep conditioning treatment I did last night.
In this tiny mirror, with my coat pulled up to my neck, I can’t see the things I hate about myself.
And of course, the very thought of them makes my smile dip. The sparkle in my eyes fades. Tiny lines etch between my eyes, a fun gift I received somewhere around my last birthday.
“No,” I tell my reflection firmly. “This is a good day. I’m not letting myself wallow. Not about things I can’t change.”
A beat later, I cast a quick glance around the parking lot, my cheeks heating at the possibility of someone walking by, hearing me talking to myself.
Which is ridiculous. First, there’s no one around. Second, it’s cold enough that everyone is hurrying to their cars, their hearing muffled by hats and hoods, so it’s highly unlikely anyone would notice. And third…
