There was silence. Something awkward, something unkind lingered in the space between both of them but Alexandria wouldn't be the one to break the quiet. She didn't quite know what had driven her to walk back inside and ask Clarke the question she had. It could have been one of any different things that had been whispering in the back of her mind, it could have been any one of her insecurities.
Or maybe she had simply had enough of not knowing. Of course there were worries about breaking tradition, of learning about a past she no longer remembered. There was a reason she had never inquired about her reign, there was a reason no commander who found themselves living at the homestead ever questioned or delved into their past.
And yet here she was.
All those thoughts flashed through her mind in a second, perhaps two, perhaps three. Through it all her gaze never wavered from Clarke's for she wanted to see the truth in the woman's eyes, she wanted to read the memories upon her face and she wanted to feel whatever emotions were allowed to live freely, even for a moment.
Alexandria watched as Clarke's eyes widened, she watched as her lips parted in shock and there was something in her expression that spoke of pain, of hopelessness and loss.
Again Alexandria remained quiet as she watched Clarke struggle to put into words the thoughts so clearly moving through her mind. But Alexandria didn't think Clarke tried to think of a way to avoid her question, she didn't think Clarke tried to misdirect, lie, somewhat wriggle out of answering. Instead she believed so very much that she was trying to think of how to explain, how to describe whatever events that had happened so long ago.
Alexandria didn't know why she thought that. Perhaps something about Clarke made her want to believe she was trustworthy in that moment. Perhaps something in her core told her to trust, to give her time, to let her think when at any other time those same instincts would be telling her to press forward, to attack, to cause whoever stood in front of her to squirm under her gaze.
But Alexandria let Clarke think.
"Can we talk somewhere else?" Clarke's voice was quiet, perhaps in an attempt to not disturb Agamemnon, perhaps in an attempt to let her know that she wanted to speak truthfully without fear of being overheard.
Alexandria nodded and gestured for Clarke to follow her. That break in eye contact gave her enough time to take in a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. Perhaps she was thankful her back was no turned from Clarke as she walked towards her room. Part of her didn't know if she wanted Clarke to know just how much she wanted to know the answer to the questions she had.
But as she reached her room, as she reached for the door knob she took a moment to pause, she took a moment to think over Eamon's expression only minutes before. She knew what he would say, she knew he would caution her for it could open doors she would never be able to close again. But she thought herself too committed, too set upon a path she couldn't stray from.
And so she nodded to herself and pushed open her door.
Alexandria's room, as always, was neatly kept, the few belongings she had placed exactly were they lived. Her bed was made, it always was. And yet, despite all that, for some reason she found herself feeling self-conscious now that Clarke would get a glimpse at the home she had built for herself.
Alexandria came to a stop in the middle of the room, her back to Clarke and her hands clenched into fists. She hadn't thought too much further ahead than where she now found herself, she didn't know exactly how to begin the conversation again. In that uncertainty came a realisation that Clarke had never stepped foot into her room, had never dared pry.
Perhaps that fact was yet another small thing that made her want to wince, want to recoil, shy away from truths she hadn't been brave enough to face.
But she'd never get another chance at knowing the truth. If she turned away, if she refused to ask the questions that burned a hole in her heart she'd never find the resolve to ask them again. And so Alexandria turned, she looked Clarke in the eyes and she let her shoulders square as her breath steadied.
Again there was silence. But this time Alexandria knew it lingered for she commanded it do so. She let it sit between them both, she let it settle in the space around them and she ironed her resolve.
Maybe she wanted Clarke to be the one to break first, maybe she wanted her to say something. A selfish part of Alexandria wanted Clarke to utter the first words because she knew Clarke had always had more power in whatever conversations they had shared over the days. How could she not? It was selfish, it was cruel, she knew that much. But Alexandria wanted something for herself. Just one time, consequences be damned.
"I—" Clarke's voice was quiet, dry, she swallowed and Alexandria fought not to let the breath she had been holding shudder lest Clarke notice.
She needed to be strong in that moment. If only for herself. If only because she didn't know if she wanted to hear the truth or a lie. She didn't even know if she'd even recognise which was which.
But the silence had been broken, she had scraped together as much power as she could dream of having. And that was enough for her.
"Sit," she gestured awkwardly to the edge of her bed, if only because it was the only thing sitting on that was comfortable. "Please," she should have considered the fact she didn't have a readily available chair in her room.
They sat at opposite ends of the bed, their bodies awkwardly turned from each other lest they feel too comfortable in whatever situation was developing. There was a moment's pause and she watched Clarke make herself a little more comfortable, the shifting of her body echoing against her own body as it ruffled the furs atop her bed.
And then Clarke spoke, and it was quiet, not afraid, not timid, perhaps cautious, perhaps unsure.
"Where do you want me to start?" Clarke's gaze was aimed somewhere in the distance but Alexandria watched as her eyes seemed to harden, seem to accept that there was no running from the conversation before snapping to meet hers.
"The start," her voice was just as quiet as Clarke's.
"After Anya's death," Clarke said, and this time her vision never wavered from hers. "We met. I wanted to stop the violence, I wanted to stop a war between our people."
Alexandria wondered what she must have thought when she had first seen Clarke. She tried to imagine the woman she had been. Had there been that same fire in her eyes that she saw now? Would it have been as tempered? As rich and deep? Or would it have been brighter, more violent, more eager to jump head first into problem without understanding the weight of decisions soon to come?
"I remember seeing you for the first time," Clarke said, and this time there was a smile in her voice, something lighter, something less burdened by age. "I think you wanted to put on a show," and she shrugged and whatever tension had existed moments ago seemed to lessen. Just a little. "I think you were putting on a show," she continued. "I spoke to Kane," Alexandria didn't question who Kane must have been. It didn't matter. "He said you pretended to be a servant and tricked him and another man into giving up more information than they would have."
Alexandria watched as Clarke's eyes drifted away for a moment as a memory took hold. She thought it a little darker then.
"When we met you had your war paint on," Clarke gestured across her face as if she were painting the marks upon herself. "It made you look terrifying," she said it more gently, perhaps those words were tinged with sadness and an old longing for yesteryears gone by. "I can't count how many times I'd end up seeing you in that paint," and she laughed then, and it was rich, quiet, it drilled into Alexandria's soul. "I even walked in on you putting it on once. I accused you of doing something I disagreed with. I think the fact that I walked in on you putting on the war paint annoyed you more than what I was accusing you of doing."
This time Alexandria looked away, this time it was her turn to feel something less sure. Part of her hated the fact that Clarke seemed to remember such mundane parts of her life, things that shouldn't be remembered but were. Simply because they had shared them together.
"Go on," Alexandria didn't mean to whisper it.
Clarke looked at her a little more calmly, her body seemed to turn towards her with less apprehension and she thought the space between them both had lessened. Just a little. Just enough to be noticeable if she dared study the space.
"There was a boy," Clarke's eyes darkened for a moment. "Someone I thought I knew. Someone I thought I cared for—" she paused. "He was responsible for the deaths of villagers. So you sentenced him to death."
Alexandria's head cocked to the side. She could tell Clarke spoke of this boy with something close to affection. But she wouldn't pry. Not about that. She oddly thought it not her place despite what he had seemingly done.
But as Alexandria remained quiet she saw Clarke's gaze drop to her hands, she watched as Clarke's left hand seemed to turn over in her lap, she watched as she seemed to take hold of an invisible knife and she thought she knew.
"You took his life to spare him a painful death," Alexandria knew she had guessed correctly as Clarke nodded, her lips pulling into something between sadness, bitterness and a longing for something less bruised.
"Yeah," and she looked away. "He wasn't the first person I had killed by then," Clarke took in a steadying breath and Alexandria knew she remembered people she had killed. "But he was different," Clarke said with a shrug.
Alexandria nodded to herself, if only because she thought she could see now how Clarke would have fascinated her, would have drawn her attention.
"At his pyre," Clarke said quietly, "that's when you told me about Costia," this time there was a purposeful pause. Something conscious and Alexandria knew why. She remembered Clarke's question, her offer to tell her more of Costia's life and death. Or what little of it she knew.
"How did she die?" Alexandria wanted to know. Perhaps not because she still loved her. Not because she longed to see her again. That pain had ebbed, tempered, morphed into something more calm, more full of acceptance and understanding. But still, it would be nice to know. For closure. She thought Costia deserved that much.
"You told me Azgeda captured her," Clarke said and it was enough for Alexandria to know what would come next. She knew she could interrupt Clarke, tell her she need not go on. But Costia deserved to be remembered by the one person she had sacrificed her life for and so she remained quiet knowing Clarke would continue. "They tortured her and beheaded her," the last part came out a whisper.
Alexandria found a tear falling down her cheek, the emotion she felt unexpectedly strong given the years that had passed. But she thought she remembered Costia's face, she thought she could remember the faintest echoes of a laugh and a smile that she thought had all but faded to time.
She looked Clarke in the eyes then and she could see pain too. She didn't know if Clarke's pain was for Costia, for someone she had never met. She didn't know if Clarke's pain was for her, for the fact she didn't remember their shared love. Or if it was for herself, for a pain only she could understand, remember and feel.
"I don't have to go on," Clarke said quietly.
But Alexandria shook her head, she wiped away the tear that fell and she ironed her will.
"After that we began spending more time together as we planned how to take down the Mountain," Clarke continued. "There were ups and downs," that came with a wry smile that told Alexandria there were moments shared between them that were fraught and frayed. "I think that's why we formed a connection," and Clarke shrugged, the gesture unsure, the gesture lonely.
Alexandria took a moment to consider everything Clarke had said and it didn't surprise her that they would have been drawn to each other in a moment full of anguish and uncertainty, with a brewing war and the next day never certain.
"Eventually the war with the Mountain came," Clarke said, and this time her voice darkened and Alexandria could tell Clarke recalled pain and suffering.
She had always assumed something terrible must have happened at the Mountain's defeat for Clarke to be given the title of Wanheda. She knew she must have been involved in some way and she knew it not a topic to be taken lightly. For a moment she even considered changing topics, averting the discussion, avoiding it all together and simply stepping away from whatever path she had set herself upon. But she couldn't. Not when answers were so clos—
"You betrayed me."
It was said so simply that it cut into Alexandria's thoughts, into her emotions, through her worries and her turmoils.
But the words themselves wriggled wriggled into her heart just as much as they wriggled into her mind.
Me.
That was what Clarke had said. Not us, not Skaikru. Me.
Perhaps that one single word gave her more insight into their relationship than any other could have.
Alexandria looked at Clarke and she found the woman remaining quiet, perhaps stoic in composure and she knew Clarke was the one now taking control, taking hold of the reigns and letting the silence linger. But she didn't know if Clarke did it to test her, to give her time to process or to make her squirm under the lack of knowledge she would always have.
But as Alexandria continued to look Clarke in the eyes, as she continued to share in the quiet that was allowed to linger, she thought the silence not unkind, not meant to hurt, not meant to scare or harm.
"And that is why you killed me."
It was simple, Alexandria couldn't see why Clarke wouldn't want to harm her if she had betrayed her and made her do something that warranted the title Wanheda.
But of all the things Alexandria expected Clarke to respond with, it wasn't a quiet laugh and a shake of her head.
"No," Clarke's voice was light, oddly so, as if she had heard something funny, jovial, silly upon her ears. "No, that was only the beginning."
Alexandria frowned, her head cocked to the side and she found herself enjoying the creases that formed in the corners of Clarke's eyes.
"After you betrayed me I did something," she shrugged, the gesture enough that Alexandria knew Clarke wouldn't expand upon it just yet. "And then I did something even more stupid," and she looked away for a moment and Alexandria again knew Clarke recalled years gone by. "I lived off the ground, or as best as I could with what little knowledge I had. I thought I was punishing myself for a reason I can't really describe."
It surprised Alexandria to hear that. If only because she was sure people would not have let Wanheda wander off on her own without protection, without guidance in some way.
"You sent someone to find me, bring me back to Polis," Clarke continued.
Alexandria found herself cursing the woman she had once been, if only because she could tell from Clarke's tone that there was more, that she had handled the situation poorly, that Clarke had been upset with her in some way.
"I was so angry with you," Clarke said then and Alexandria couldn't help but to feel something close to admonishment at the way Clarke's gaze drilled into her. "For so many things. I can't really explain," she shrugged.
"How long had we known each other?" Alexandria asked, and perhaps for the first she realised she hadn't even known how long they had known each other, how long they had had to connect over struggles, pains, emotions she couldn't recall.
Her question seemed to take Clarke by surprise and she watched as Clarke's eyes looked away in thought, she studied the way her face seemed to grow a frown and furrowed brow. "Months?" it came out as much question as statement. "No. Less," Clarke paused, long enough that Alexandria knew she was trying to count back the years. "Weeks, really," Clarke continued.
"Weeks," Alexandria echoed, her voice quiet as she tried to imagine what it must have been like to have known someone for such a short amount of time yet to so clearly have left an impression on them that had lasted years.
"We grew closer again," Clarke said after the silence had settled. "Maybe in spite of me trying not to let it happen," Clarke's head shook and Alexandria watched a loose strand of hair escaped from its place and danced in what little breeze filtered into her room. "There was a man," she said. "Titus."
Alexandria felt old memories tug at the corner of her mind at the name for she remembered him, she remembered his guidance to all the nightbloods. And she knew there was so much of him that she didn't remember, that she would never remember now that memories were locked away from her forever. But she remembered him to be stern, fair in ways, stubborn and strict in others.
"Titus didn't approve of how close we were becoming," Clarke said quietly. "He thought our relationship would be the end of your rule, he thought I'd break the Coalition into pieces and throw the world into chaos," there was a wry laugh that escaped her lips. "He tried to kill me," this time Clarke's eyes darkened, there was something dark under the surface and Alexandria knew the memories taking hold were unkind, cruel, wicked and untamed. "But you were caught in the crossfire. You tried to help, tried to do something but he shot you instead."
Alexandria flinched at Clarke's words and she looked down at her stomach, to where her scar etched itself into her flesh.
And it was strange. It was odd, so very bizarre.
She had lost count of how many times she had looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how the wound had happened. She had lost count of how many times she had ran a finger across its ugliness. She had lost count of how many times she had imagined how her end had come. But to hear it, to know how it had happened, however sanitised the explanation was, made her mind reel, made her thoughts shift from one thing to another without certainty and purpose.
And she knew not how to handle the information. She knew not how to deal with the things that were said. Perhaps she never would.
"And then I died," it was said so simply that Alexandria wasn't even sure she realised it was herself that spoke.
She knew there were so many things Clarke had skipped past in her explanations. She knew there were moments shared between them that Clarke had held back, that would give light to the darkest of her questions. But what Clarke had said was enough for Alexandria to understand, to glimpse into a past so full of mystery that had kept her awake for so many nights.
And she didn't know what to think of it. Part of her had imagined her death something victorious, something full violence, perhaps at the hands of a Mountain Man, perhaps in the midst of war, perhaps an assassination. She had assumed that much. But to hear her death had been an accident, had been her own Flame-keeper made her want laugh a bitter laugh, made her want to scream, shake her head and turn back the time. Perhaps it was pathetic that she had hoped for something more purposeful, something more grand. Perhaps it was selfish that she had imagined her death as heroic.
And yet it had been none of those things.
Alexandria took in a deep breath. Her mind seemed unsure of what she wanted to say next. Her thoughts seemed disorganised and full of turmoil. And perhaps she realised in that very moment why any who found themselves at the homestead were not to ask questions of their past.
"But you didn't die," Clarke's voice cut into her rambling mind and Alexandria looked up to find her sitting a little closer, the space between them not so distant, not to empty. "You're alive, here," Clarke's hand reached out ever so cautiously into the space between them, and as Alexandria watched she saw Clarke's hand pause half way, the gesture a sign perhaps of things to come, an invitation extended for her to take should she desire.
Perhaps the oddest thing of all though, was the fact that Alexandria didn't feel much at all. She didn't feel too much sadness, she didn't feel too much anger. There was no hope, no emptiness, no sense of completion or feelings of loss. There was just a normalcy that etched itself into her heart, that etched itself into her core.
It took her so long to figure out why, it took her so long to understand what Clarke had said, the things she had spoken of. They seemed abstract to her, foreign, in a language she didn't understand. But as the seconds bled into minutes Alexandria found herself realising why she felt nothing more and nothing less.
"But she did," Alexandria said quietly. "The woman you knew died years ago, Clarke," and she tried not to sound cruel, tried not to sound unkind. But she knew she did when she saw Clarke flinch. "Lexa does not exist anymore."
There was hurt upon Clarke's face, for a split second she saw frustration and anger flare. But there was something deeper, too, a secret only Clarke seemed to know and Alexandria frowned, just barely, enough that she knew Clarke must have seen it.
"I don't believe that," Clarke's voice was firm, not hostile, not cruel. But it was confident, sure, so certain of what she said.
Alexandria didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. She believed with all her heart that she was no longer the woman who had been the Commander. It wasn't a belief of sorts, not something of an opinion that could be changed with new information. It was simply truth. Just as true as saying that water was wet, fire was hot. Those things couldn't change, would never change.
But Clarke didn't seem to believe that for whatever reason and that made Alexandria want to ask, delve deeper, and yet part of her told her to turn back yet again, leave the discussion, kill it before it could take hold in her mind and turmoil her thoughts forever.
"Why?" It was a simple question for Alexandria to ask. One that she needed to.
"I—" Clarke paused and looked away.
Alexandria watched as Clarke seemed to think, ponder something intangible that was so far out of her grasp. Again there was that feeling of empty annoyance that filled a void within her mind. She knew Clarke considered things unknown to her, she knew Clarke held more pieces of the puzzle than she would ever have access to. And it annoyed her, made her want to scream into the void. But she remained quiet, she remained as composed as she could.
"Athena told me as much," Clarke said eventually.
Alexandria looked Clarke in the eyes, she studied her, tried to see deception or deceit. She saw none. What she saw instead was confusion, uncertainty, a truthfulness that she somehow recognised. She knew Clarke hadn't said everything, she knew Clarke hadn't told her exactly why. But for some reason she understood that Clarke was trying to tell her as much as she could. She knew Clarke wasn't trying to lie through omission, only trying to keep things as simple as she could lest she cause more harm than she could ever imagine.
And perhaps that was what frustrated her. No matter how hard Clarke could try, no matter how hard she could try, Alexandria would never have all the answers, would never be allowed to have all the answers. She felt herself trapped in an endless race where she was fated to start late, always playing catchup, always with one hand tied behind her back.
"I'm not lying to you," Clarke's voice was quiet again, it seemed full of pain and regret for things she couldn't change.
"I know," Alexandria said. She didn't know what else to say given the circumstances.
"You're real to me, Alexandria," Clarke said. "There's things I can't explain, things I don't even really understand," and she heard a hint of pleading in Clarke's voice. "But I know you. I know who you were. I know things are different, but still, I—" she paused, seemed to bite back something upon her tongue. "I know things are different," Clarke echoed. "I know they can never be the same. I know things will always be different and I'm not trying to pretend that they aren't."
Alexandria broke Clarke's gaze. She didn't think herself able to handle the emotion in the woman's eyes. She didn't think she even understood how to comprehend what Clarke felt for someone who didn't even remember. And it was strange, it was unkind. So very foreign to her.
She had spent so many days knowing that Clarke felt for her. She had spent so many days avoiding the truth that was easy for her to see. She knew at some point they would have to face it, that she wouldn't be able to hide from it anymore. And yet now that those emotions were being laid bare she didn't know what to do.
But Clarke continued, her voice calm, her reason sound.
"I know it's not fair," Clarke said. "I know it's not fair of me to come here, to look at you the way I do, to be a reminder of things out of your control," she said. "But I believe with everything I have that you are the same woman I knew."
Alexandria shook her head. She wasn't sure if she did so to deny the words Clarke uttered. She didn't know if she did it to rid her mind of unkind thoughts, ands he didn't know if she did it simply to give herself time to sift through those thoughts she wished to ignore.
The things Clarke said made her think, made her want to recoil, made her want to hope. But to think of what? To recoil from what? To hope for what?
Alexandria sensed more than heard Clarke take in a steadying breath. Part of her wanted to do the same, but she thought her mind too occupied with questions, too occupied with doubts to be able to do anything else.
"I am not blind," Alexandria said then, and she looked back at Clarke to find her still looking at her. "I see the way you look at me and I know you do not mean to," she paused, bit her lip as she tried to put to words the things she wanted to say.
"I'm sorry," Clarke's voice was quiet. More quiet than it had been in a long time.
But Alexandria shook her head. Truthfully she didn't think Clarke needed to apologise. Her life would have been easier had Clarke never come, if she had never known more of her past than she now did. But part of her wanted it, thrived off it, didn't want Clarke to leave if only because she gave her a connection to a past she had always selfishly longed for.
"No," Alexandria said and she made sure her voice was steady, firm, sure. "You do not need to be sorry," and she was relieved that her voice didn't waver. "Nor do I need to be sorry," and she found herself staring into Clarke's eyes with such intensity that she thought she could memorise every single colour she saw. "We are both victims to our past. We are both victims to circumstances out of our control," Alexandria knew what she needed to say and for the first time in so long she found herself feeling more confident than she had in years gone by. "It is not fair that my face is a reminder of a ghost and a love lost years ago. Just as it is not fair that you look at me and hope to see that love in my eyes that I see in yours," and she shook her head to stop Clarke from speaking. "I know you never intended to make me feel out of place, I know you never intended to make me feel cornered."
Alexandria took a moment or two to organise her thoughts into something more concrete. It had been so long since she had felt such clarity and she relished it. Perhaps what she felt in the moment was something like what had once been felt when she had lived a different life, one of command, of rule, or knowing more than she did.
"Life has not been kind to us, Clarke," she said. "Not to you, not to me," she smiled something between sadness and understanding and she wondered what Clarke thought, she wondered what Clarke saw. She wondered who Clarke saw. Perhaps in times to come she would feel the same love for Clarke that Clarke clearly felt for her. But in that moment she knew she didn't. Not because she didn't want to, not because she didn't wish to. But because she simply didn't.
It felt as though a weight was lifted off her shoulders with that realisation. Perhaps what Clarke had said was true, that she was the same person she had been before her death. But circumstances changed people. Alexandria thought of her time at the homestead, she thought of her life with Eamon, a man she had come to know as brother, friend, family. She thought of Agamemnon, someone she sought comfort in, who had guided her in times of trouble, who she now worried for more than he seemed to worry for himself. She thought of Brutus, a dog too big for his own good. And she knew who she was now. And it wasn't Lexa. It wasn't commander. It was Alexandria, a woman who had lived a life, who had lived experiences Lexa had never lived. Perhaps being faced with her past, through Clarke, had been that push she had needed to understand that the life she had built for herself need not be built on the ruins of a past life. But one that could stand on its own, could live on its own and thrive on its own.
And Alexandria knew what she needed to say to Clarke.
"Clarke," she whispered, and she watched as Clarke looked at her with something between pain and hope, love and acceptance and understanding and loss. "You look at me like I am someone you once knew," she said. "But I am not. Perhaps my spirit is the same, perhaps it is not. But I have lived a life that has changed me, made me someone different than who you remember," she didn't like the way her heart began to beat in her chest. "I would be lying if I told you I could be that person again, if I could fill that hole in your heart Lexa's death created."
"I know," Clarke's voice was strained, full of pain and understanding.
Alexandria now knew Lexa had hurt Clarke immeasurably — in her actions, in her death. She didn't want that to be the foundation of something they could share. She didn't think it fair to herself to be burdened by actions she had no knowledge of, no justification for.
"I do not wish for you to hold onto the ghost of a woman who can not exist for you," Alexandria continued. "That would not be fair to you," she paused, perhaps to think, perhaps to understand her own words. "I do not think Lexa would want you to hold onto that hope," she didn't know why she said it, she didn't know why she believed that. But she did.
Clarke's head tilted to the side ever so slightly, and for a moment Alexandria saw something curious in her blue eyes that threatened to pull her from her task.
"I am no longer Lexa," she said more surely than she had ever said anything before. And she believed it. "I do not know if you can accept that," she didn't need to say more, didn't want to say more lest it sway her resolve. "I do not want you to wish for something that can never exist again," Alexandria thought herself finally understanding what it meant to build her own life, to accept herself as her own person. She thought it ironic that it took someone from a past life to give her the perspective on who she had become, on who she now was.
Alexandria looked up for a moment in thought, she let the clarity of her thoughts steady the beating of her heart and she took in a single breath, and it seemed clear, calming, grounding and steady.
She looked back at Clarke before she spoke again.
"I hope," Alexandria began. "If you are willing to accept all I have said," she let herself pause, in part to give Clarke time to digest what she had said, in part to give herself time to be sure of the things she had decided. "I would like you to come to know who I am as Alexandria," and she saw something in Clarke's eyes. "If you are willing, Clarke," Alexandria felt less burdened than she had in years. "From this moment forward, what we build together can be new. Can be ours."