For the first time, I saw my hypervigilance not as a burden but as a gift. The same sensitivity that had made life with Mom so painful could be channeled into something beautiful. Something meaningful.
As I walked back to the classroom, I scrolled through my images one more time. The tree from below, reaching for the sky. The hollow, offering shelter. The bark, weathered but enduring. The leaf, new life resting on old roots.
Different perspectives on the same subject. Different stories from the same starting point.
I thought about my own story—how it might look from different angles. From one perspective, I was the abandoneddaughter of an addict, unwanted and shuffled from place to place. From another, I was a survivor, adaptable and resilient. From yet another, I was a girl finding her footing in a new family, cautiously allowing herself to trust, to hope.
All true. All me. Just different frames around the same subject.
As I packed up my camera at the end of class, Mr. Ramirez handed out permission slips for a weekend field trip to a local nature preserve.
"Bring these back signed if you're interested," he said. "It's optional, but highly recommended."
I tucked the paper into my backpack, already knowing I'd be going. Already imagining the perspectives I might capture, the stories I might tell through my lens.
For the first time since arriving in Clearwater for this extended visit, I felt like I'd found something that was just mine, not borrowed from Aunt Elyse and Uncle Drew's life. Something that connected my past and present in a way that made sense, that transformed pain into purpose.
I left class that day walking a little taller, the camera a comfortable weight against my side. Not just a tool or a toy, but an extension of how I saw the world.
And maybe, just maybe, a way for the world to see me too.
HOLLY
I was helping Jenna close up the bakery when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I thought maybe it was Aunt Elyse asking if I wanted her to pick up anything for dinner. Or maybe Uncle Drew sending another terrible dad joke that would make me groan and laugh at the same time.
But when I pulled out my phone, the name on the screen made my heart stutter.
Mom.
Three months and seventeen days of silence, and then, out of nowhere: a text message. She'd somehow managed to text my grandparents, but my texts had remained unanswered. Until then.
My hands started shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
"Holly? You okay?" Jenna's voice seemed to come from very far away, though she was standing right beside me, wiping down the stainless steel counter.
"Fine," I said automatically, my eyes fixed on the notification. "Just... need to check something."
I retreated to the small break room, sinking onto a chair, mythumb hovering over the message. Part of me wanted to delete it unread. Another part wanted to call Aunt Elyse immediately. But the largest part—the part that would always be a daughter hoping for her mother's love—needed to see what it said.
I opened the message.
Mom: Hey baby girl. Miss you so much. Things are looking up. I'm in the area and want to see you this wknd. Can you meet me at the pier Sat?
Mom: Don't tell your aunt.
My breath caught in my throat. New place. Things are looking up. The same promises she'd made a dozen times before.
And that last line: Don't tell your aunt.
A red flag so big it might as well have been a billboard. Mom had always operated in secrets—things Grandma and Grandpa couldn't know, things teachers couldn't know, things I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Secrets were her currency, her shield, her weapon.
I read the message again, searching for some hint of genuine change. Was her writing clearer than usual? Were there fewer typos? Any indication that this time might actually be different?
But all I found was the same old pattern wrapped in new words. The vague "things are looking up" without specifics. The request for secrecy. The assumption that I'd drop everything and run to her, no questions asked.
Three months ago, I probably would have. Three months ago, I was still the girl who waited by the phone, who made excuses, who believed "this time" would be different.
But I wasn't that girl anymore, and my future was brighter than ever there with Aunt 'Lyse and Uncle Drew.
