At thirty-five, a lump was found. It was small, barely a whisper of a threat, but it was there. Suddenly, the part of her body she had despised became the center of a life-or-death battle.
After the surgery, things were different. They were technically smaller, but to Lula, they felt immense. They were a scar, a triumph, a testament to endurance.
But it was her chest—her "boobs," as she often brusquely referred to them in her own mind—that held the deepest stories.