As I look back on the years that shaped me, Marjorie remains one of the most pivotal figures in my story—a presence whose kindness and belief in me helped carry me through some of the hardest moments of my life. Frida's mom had this remarkable way of being in the right place at the right time, offering solutions where I only saw dead ends.

It wasn't just about the scholarship she helped me secure when college felt like a distant dream, though that alone was a lifeline. It was the way she quietly worked in the background, helping my mom find a job without fanfare, giving our family a chance to breathe in ways we hadn't been able to for years.

When I think of Marjorie, I remember her generosity not as a gesture of charity but as an investment in who she believed I could become. Even now, as I sit here in Frida's house, the faint scent of lavender and vanilla bringing me back to a simpler time, I'm reminded of how much I owe her. She saw the potential in me when I struggled to see it in myself.

It wasn't all smooth sailing, though. The first time I saw my dad's shoulders sag under the weight of the loan he took out to send me to school, something in me shifted. I promised myself that I'd never let them take on another financial burden for my sake.

That promise became a driving force, one that pushed me harder than I'd ever been pushed. By the time I got to my master's degree, I was juggling jobs as a waitress and a tutor to cover my living expenses. I worked long nights and early mornings, refusing to let the debt spiral back into their lives. But even that wasn't enough.

Desperation can make you cross lines you never thought you would. That's how I found myself under the harsh lights of a strip club, dancing to pay off the loan I'd secretly taken out. Every night felt like a betrayal of the girl I used to be, the one who believed that hard work and resilience alone were enough to carve out a future. I told myself it was temporary, that it was a means to an end, but it was a choice that came with its own kind of cost—a weight I carried long after I left that world behind.

The night Donald walked into the club felt like a punishment from the universe, as if fate itself had decided to lay my secrets bare. He wasn't supposed to be there. None of them were. And yet, there he was, standing frozen in the doorway, his expression a mix of shock and anger that mirrored my own shame.

The confrontation that followed was inevitable, a storm that had been brewing since the day I lied about how I was paying for school. I still remember the look on my father's face when the truth came out—disappointment etched into every line, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

My mother cried, of course. That's what she always did when things became too much. And Donald... he didn't say much, not after the initial outburst. But his silence in the days that followed spoke volumes. I left that house feeling like a stranger, cut off from the family I'd sacrificed so much to protect. Marjorie was the one who picked me up from the wreckage, her unwavering support pulling me through when I wasn't sure I'd make it on my own.

Years later, I've built a life that feels stable, even successful. But the scars of those choices, those sacrifices, linger. They're a part of me now, a reminder of the lengths I was willing to go to for my dreams. And as much as I try to look forward, to focus on the life I've built, there are moments like this—sitting here with Marjorie and Frida—where the past feels closer than ever, its weight pressing down on my shoulders.

Marjorie doesn't ask about those years. She never has. But I know she remembers them. I see it in the way she looks at me, her eyes full of pride and something softer, something sadder. She's never judged me for the choices I made, only ever reminded me of the strength it took to make them.

That's the thing about Marjorie—she doesn't just see the person you are. She sees the person you're trying to become and holds space for both.

Marjorie had invited us to spend the summer in Italy—a dream of sunlit piazzas and freedom. It was tempting, but the thought of leaving weighed heavily.

But even in the glow of her excitement, I couldn't shake the pull of hesitation. Italy meant leaving behind the fragile threads I was trying to mend, leaving my family to face their struggles without me. It felt indulgent, almost selfish, to think of wandering through Italian towns while Donald juggled bills and Sapphire's laughter remained an echo I couldn't quite touch.

Marjorie, with her quiet understanding, didn't press. She simply reminded me that distance could bring clarity, that stepping away didn't mean turning my back. Still, I couldn't commit. The promise of Italy hovered on the edge of my thoughts—beautiful, but just out of reach.

As Marjorie's car disappeared around the corner, I sought solace in the warmth of a quick shower, letting the water wash away the weight of the day. The fogged mirror reflected a blurred version of myself, a reminder of the gratitude I felt under the Harris family's roof. Refreshed, I headed downstairs to find Frida in the kitchen, radiating excitement as she wrapped up a call. Her fundraiser plans were thriving, transforming into a full weekend event designed to give the city a much-needed reprieve.

I felt a swell of pride watching her passion come to life, knowing I'd played a part in its inception. Her energy was contagious, and as she shared her vision, I couldn't help but feel that her success was a shared victory—a testament to what we could achieve together.

🍎🍎

The decision comes to me as I sit there, staring into the quiet shadows of my room, my heartbeat still echoing faintly in my ears. I need to do something—anything to keep from sinking into the stillness that's been smothering me. Staying home, aimless and restless, isn't helping. If anything, it's making the nights harder to bear, feeding the memories that creep in when my mind is unoccupied.

Work feels like the answer. Not diving back in headfirst, but easing into it. I can start small—two or three clients at most, and only the cases that aren't as emotionally draining. It's not about overloading myself, just finding a sense of purpose again, something steady to hold on to. Counseling has always been that for me—a quiet sanctuary where I can focus on someone else's world instead of getting lost in my own.

The idea is reassuring, like a soft light breaking through the haze. Virtual sessions would be manageable, giving me the space I need to work at my own pace. I won't have to navigate the office just yet or face the weight of more complicated cases. And for now, that's enough—a way to start piecing myself together, step by step.

I exhale slowly, letting the tension ease from my shoulders. Tomorrow, I'll reach out to Ember again, share my plan, and set things in motion. The thought settles in my chest, grounding me. It's not a solution to everything, but it's something—a small move forward. And right now, that's all I need.

The day passed quietly, the routine offering a small comfort amidst the chaos that had come before. After finishing my call with Ember, I drove to pick up Sapphire from school, my mind preoccupied with the thought of easing back into work tomorrow. Sapphire was waiting for me outside the school gate, her little face lighting up when she spotted me. She didn't say much on the ride, content to gaze out the window, lost in her thoughts as I focused on the road ahead.

I brought her to our place after we left the school, a place that felt like a sanctuary to me now. Frida had opened her doors when I needed them most, and for that, I was grateful.

We settled into the kitchen, where I helped her with her homework. It was a quiet, simple moment—just the two of us, a soft hum of the refrigerator in the background, and the scratch of Sapphire's pencil as she worked through her assignments. I helped her as best I could, my thoughts wandering back to the conversation with Ember, but for a little while, I let the stillness of the moment wash over me.

Afterward, I drove her back to our family's house, my hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. I had yet to bridge the gap with my family, and the house still held the weight of that estrangement. It wasn't that I didn't want to repair things—it was just that the effort seemed too daunting, and the memories too sharp.

When we arrived, I pulled up to the curb in front of the house, the familiar sight of the place stirring an uneasy feeling in my chest. I looked over at Sapphire, her small figure already unbuckling her seatbelt. I watched her walk up the driveway, her backpack bouncing with each step. I didn't move until she reached the door, and even then, I stayed in place until I saw her safely inside. Only then did I breathe a little easier, my foot easing off the brake as I pulled away from the curb.

I drove off without looking back. The silence in the car felt overwhelming as I left behind a place that had once been home.