It hit her again and she ran into the trees.
She needed to be alone. Isolated from all the anger and confusion. Alone with her thoughts and memories. Memories of him... the way that he used to be. The way that she knew he once was.
This is the way that life had been for a little while now. Every once in a while she would realize everything that was going on and she would have to get away. And every time, without fail, that faithful tree was there to greet and comfort her. She would nestle herself in among the leave and branches until she felt protected. Protected from the hate and the passion and the pain and the lonliness.
The sun would shine on her face and warm her tear-stained cheeks. But with each heavenly ray, another silent tear would fall.
Nothing could stop the pain; it was everlasting... endless. The guilt was over-bearing, but in that haven she felt safe. And she felt beautiful because out there she was surrounded by nothing but untainted beauty.
Oh, and the scarf. Of course she had the scarf. She would hold onto that red scarf until her hands went numb. That scarf was her story. It was there to witness everything. It never gave up, never left, never cried.
And against that scarf, her pure white shirt reflected innocence. She knew that she was dressed in lies. Covered in lies.

Only the scarf told the true story...
It told the story of her love, and of his lust and the way she longed to be in his arms even after all this time.