Page 135 of While I’m Still Here

He doesn't tell me I'm beautiful and for one second, I'm grateful. Then I'm devastated that he hasn't. “What do you see?”

Colin looks back at my face. “You.”

My face crumples. “That's such a fucking cop-out.”

“It isn't.”

“Colin.”

“Bea, I see you.”

“That doesn't help.”

Pain flickers across his face. “I know.”

“No, you don't.”

Colin goes quiet before nodding. “You're right. I don't. I don't know what this feels like.”

“I don't recognise myself,” I say.

“But I recognise you.”

“That's not the same.”

“No,” Colin says softly. “It isn't.”

He doesn't argue with me. Somehow that makes it easier to ask the humiliating question sitting underneath everything else. “Am I still beautiful?”

“Yes.” The answer is immediate.

“You didn't say it before.”

“Because I didn't want the first thing I said about your body to be whether I still find you attractive.”

“But do you?”

“Yes, Bea.” Colin shifts his chair closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I think you're beautiful because I've always thought you're beautiful. I'm not going to tell you surgery somehow made you more beautiful because you'd punch me, and I'm fairly certain you're medically advised against that at the moment. But I'm not going to pretend I can't see what's changed either. I can. I see it.”

“And?”

“And you're still the woman I've loved for seven years.”

My mouth trembles. “What if I never like it?”

“Then you never have to like it for me.”

“What if I don't want you touching me?”

“Then I don't.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I'll ask.”

“What if I change my mind halfway through?”

“Then I stop.”