I smiled.
“I had soup.”
“Good.”
“And toast.”
“Excellent progress.”
I laughed again.
Something about the ordinary conversation made me feel less frightened.
Before hanging up, Damien said something I carried with me for weeks.
“Hannah, escaping was one decision. Recovery will involve many more. You don’t have to make all of them tonight.”
I looked at my painting.
For the first time, the future didn’t seem like an enormous dark hallway.
It seemed like something I could approach one step at a time.
Two months after leaving Brandon, I started working again.
Jasmine knew a woman named Patricia who managed a small community arts center.
They needed someone part-time to organize workshops, answer phones, and help with weekend classes.
The salary wasn’t enormous.
But it was mine.
My first paycheck made me cry.
I deposited it into a bank account Brandon couldn’t access.
Then I bought groceries for Jasmine.
