As she put her toiletries away, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in eight long years, she stared at a free woman. Unfortunately, that freedom had come with a huge cost. As of this morning, two hundred and seventeen people had died from the bombings. The number of those injured remained at one hundred and eight, with a third of those people suffering from lost limbs, third degree burns, disfiguration and broken bones. Yes, freedom didn’t taste as good as she’d dreamed it would. Instead, all she tasted was regret and guilt. Tossing her make-up bag beneath the cabinet under the bathroom sink, she let the tears fall. Considering how much she’d cried these past two day, she’d thought the well would eventually run dry. With so much sadness and grief remaining, there would be no drought. The psychologist Ian had suggested she speak with over the phone last night had told her to look for symptoms of survivor’s guilt. That she might experience anxiety and depression, insomnia, nightmares and uncontrollable crying jags. She finished putting away her toothbrush and toothpaste, then looked at her reflection again.
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