In the quiet strength with which—even on her knees—she refused to become what hurt her.
Years later, when her daughter once asked why she wore her hair differently in an old portrait kept in her desk, Alicia sat her on her lap and answered calmly:
“Because there were people who believed they could take away my worth by cutting what could be seen. But a woman’s worth does not live in her hair, or her dress, or in what others say about her. It lives in what she decides to remain.”
The little girl looked at her seriously.
“And what did you decide to be?”
Alicia kissed her forehead.
“I decided not to disappear.”
And in the end, that was her true victory.
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