“What changed?”
“There was a woodworking program taught by an old man named Joe. He’d been a master carpenter before he retired. Volunteered at the prison twice a week.”
They reached a bench overlooking a small bend in the river. Beckett brushed away the snow and gestured for her to sit. The wood was cold beneath her, but the view was worth it, the mountains rising beyond the town, majestic and eternal.
“Joe taught me how to see the potential in a piece of wood. How to be patient and to work with the grain instead of against it. He used to say that every mistake was just an opportunity to create something different than what you planned.”
“Sounds like a wise man.”
“He was. He also told me that forgiveness wasn’t about the other person. It was about freeing yourself.” He paused and looked out at the river. “That was harder to learn than the woodworking.”
Snowflakes drifted down around them. One landed on her eyelash, and she blinked it away. “Have you? Forgiven yourself?”
“Some days. Other days, I still wonder what my life would have been if I’d made different choices. If I hadn’t gotten in that car.”
The vulnerability in his admission touched something in her. Here was someone who understood what it meant to question the path you’d taken and wonder about the roads not traveled.
“I think about my past every day,” he added quietly. “Not just the bad parts, but all of it. The good choices, the bad ones. The people who helped me, and the ones who didn’t. It’s all part of who I am now.”
She nodded, watching the snowflakes disappear into the rushing water. “I used to be so sure about who I was. Tessa Grant, ER nurse. Responsible. Reliable. Always the one who could handle the crisis.”
“And now?”
She pulled her scarf tighter. “Now I’m not sure who I am without work and responsibility. I’ve built my whole identity around being needed and being the capable one. And then suddenly...”
“Suddenly what?”
She hadn’t told anyone about the panic attacks. To her co-workers, she’d cited exhaustion, burnout, and the standard excuses that wouldn’t raise too many questions. But sitting here with Beckett, with the snow falling around them and no expectations pressing down, the truth felt less frightening.
“I started having panic attacks.” The words came out in a rush. “At work. The first one happened during a trauma case. Multiple car accident, three critical patients. The kind of situation I’d handled dozens of times before.”
She stared at her gloved hands. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Had to hide in the supply closet until it passed. After that, they kept happening. My hands would shake when I tried to insert IVs. I’d forget basic protocols I’d known for years.”
Saying it aloud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before, even to herself. “I’m not sure I can go back to ER work. And if I can’t do that... I don’t know who I am.”
The confession hung between them, as real as the snowflakes drifting down. She waited for the judgment, the platitudes, and the well-meaning advice she’d expected from anyone she told.
Instead, he simply nodded. “I understand that. When everything you thought defined you is suddenly gone, it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff.”
“Exactly,” she whispered, relief washing through her at being understood.
“But maybe…” He paused and looked at her. “There’s freedom in that too. In being able to redefine yourself.”
She considered his words. “Is that what you did?”
“I’m still doing it. Every day. Some days are better than others.”
A cardinal landed on a branch nearby, dislodging a small shower of snow. They both watched as it flitted away, leaving the branch bobbing gently.
“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?” he asked.
She nodded, touched by his willingness to share with her.
“When I first got out, I was terrified of open spaces. Sounds strange, I know, but after fifteen years of walls and fences and limited horizons... suddenly having all that space, all those choices, it was overwhelming.”
“What did you do?”
“I found one small thing I could manage each day. Making my bed. Walking to the end of the block and back. Cooking a meal from scratch.” He smiled slightly. “Gradually, the world got bigger, and I got braver.”
