Cosette sat on her bed, reading, in a moment of spare time. The book was one she'd borrowed from another girl, an adventure, wild and suspenseful, with careful dark print that contradicted the intriguing, imaginative events enacted by the cast.
She looked out the window of her room, and wondered if this was the sort of life she might have had if she'd left the convent. But that didn't bear thinking on. It would only make her feel lonely and trapped again, and thus she should shut it away and try to think about either the story or God, as both required her attention, and the tug-of-war was a little more daring.
Twenty-two, now, four years since her father's decision that she should stay. It was a routine life, somewhat boring, but definitely safe. And she would never, ever have to worry about Madame Thénardier finding her here. Here she was safe. Here, she was free of that. So even having no freedom for the rest of the world, at least the freedom from the nightmarish woman was complete and filling.
And her father loved her, which was a beautiful, wonderful treasure. She had someone who loved her. And really, she loved him too, for his care and kindness.
So she was happy. And it didn't quite matter that she'd never see what was beyond the convent's gates. After all, she had her book.