molly was never one to beg nor plead — she refused to lower herself to such standards.

yet she knelt before you as though she were mary magdalene and you crucified, her green eyes brimming with tears that threatened to overflow. perhaps it was dutch that made her feel this way; any emotion or outburst made her broken or unlovable. how could anyone love something broken? how could you love her?

but as tears ran down her face, you wondered how anyone could find her unloveable.