I found her in a bakery. Fifteen, sixteen years after I had last seen her, I found her standing in front of the cookies. Shelly's was the name of the bakery. Shelly's, the name, was why I stopped and came in. I hate bakeries with names that are cutesy. Names with "sweet" or "sugar" or the like in it.

I walked in looking for cupcakes. I found her. I should have turned and left, but before I could her name was out of my mouth.

"Maggie?"

She had been bent over, holding her hair back, until I called her name. She stood and turned. I could tell she didn't recognize me. Not right away.

Fifteen years does a lot. Fifteen years and you get married, then divorced. Fifteen years and you grow into yourself. You're not that teenager who dressed sloppy because you knew your looks would never win anyone over. Fifteen years and you learn more women than you could have imagined like your eyes, your smile, the scars on your hands. You stop dressing sloppy. You take pride in yourself.

Fifteen years and you change. Fifteen years, and she changed.

When we were young she was cute. In that bakery, Shelly's, she was beautiful.