If you can hear the voice that means it is absolute yet that does not justify the entirety of its owner. Without fear or doubt you continue to follow the voice and have found yourself in a cramped cafe with passé features and a shortage of both its staff and customers. In the corner of the dreary cafe you'll find her, the reason behind the whispers and the voices and with one objective in your mind, not minding the inhumane atmosphere you willingly approach.

Engulfed in sorrow, you take the empty seat you know is meant for you. Setting aside the freshly brewed coffee in front of you, you went right to the point. You told her your story and she politely nods however the sensation of interest is undetected. You pointed out all the pain and sorrow embodying your abusive marriage and the imminent loss of something you were meant to have leading into the moment of your immaculate epiphany.

As you finished your woeful tale, you see her eyeing back at you. Face stoic as if she had heard everything you’ve said before. Filled with hope and fear you finally ask her, “Is this enough?”

There was a moment of silence and all you could hear were the remote sounds of the dormant café.
You eyed her once again, noticing the frailness of her posture, the paleness of her skin and the distinctive bandana, which was the memoir of your childhood, covering only of what’s left from her chemotherapy. She reached out her hand simultaneously giving out a smile.
You touched her hand, ignoring the coldness of it, and looked once again to the familiar petite girl wondering how your life could’ve been if only you weren’t a survivor.