The Woman Who Returned Her Shadow

For as long as she could remember, Mara hadn’t cast a shadow. Not a metaphor. Or a poem. Just a strange, stubborn fact. Under sun or moonlight, there was simply… nothing. No shape trailing behind her. No silhouette stretching at her feet. On sunny sidewalks, her silhouette vanished while others stretched out before them. Fluorescent lights in office bathrooms revealed nothing behind her. She once stood under a streetlamp at midnight, arms stretched out, spinning slowly, just to be sure. Still nothing. It had disappeared the day she walked out of her old life. The day she walked barefoot down the apartment stairs, blood on her temple, no suitcase in hand. Just a wallet, a broken phone, and an ache lodged so deep in her chest she thought it might burst her open. It was the sort of oddity she learned to live with. People hardly noticed. When they did, they blamed the angle of the light, the brightness of the sun. Some even insisted it was there—“I saw it! Just a second ago.” But Mara knew the truth. Her shadow was gone. At first, the absence of her shadow felt like a relief. Like proof she was finally free from the weight of everything she had endured. As if all the darkness she had carried- every bruised evening, every whispered apology that never meant anything- had detached itself from her body and fled. She was lighter. Invisible, in the best possible way. But freedom could feel a lot like loneliness. Years passed. New city. New name. New skin, built layer by layer from silence and survival. And still, no shadow. Until the morning she opened her front door and found it waiting for her on the porch. It wasn’t attached to anyone. Just there, flickering faintly in the early light, like it had followed her through time. Mara stared. Her first instinct was to slam the door. Pretend it wasn’t real. Shadows, once returned, don’t leave quietly. But this time, she didn’t run. She stepped outside and faced it. Her shadow rippled along the pavement, trembling, unsure. Then it moved to align with her body, slow and careful, like a child reuniting with a mother it barely remembered. The moment her fingers met the darkness, it clung to her- swift, hungry, sure. A perfect fit. That night, Mara slept without waking. She dreamed of her old self standing beside her in a field of white lilies. They didn’t speak. But when she woke, her chest felt lighter. For the first time in seven years, she wasn’t afraid of her shadow.

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