“Miranda! What’s going on?” Megan stood at the door, her mouth a gape. Megan had intruded on a sacred ritual between Miranda and her doll Sarabeth. Her arm bleeding, her face bruised Miranda sought solace in her doll. She sobbed into the small dress Sarabeth wore.

Miranda looked up at her friend. Megan had seen the wounds, the tears. “Megan, it’s not…” She was at a loss for words.

But Megan knew what to do. She walked over to the bed and hugged her friend. She readjusted the doll on the other side of the bed, away from the two people. Megan didn’t know the legacy of Sarabeth. She held onto Miranda, not speaking, just letting her friend cry.

But Miranda wanted no part of holding Megan. Instead she reached for Sarabeth. “She’s my life, Megs. She keeps me going. Sarabeth means the world to me..”

Miranda held onto the precious doll. Megan, still comforting her friend answered, “It’s alright dear. It will be alright.” And with the three of them Miranda forgot everything; her tortured life, her problems..