"Yes. From San Francisco."
"Ah, beautiful city." She tosses more bread to the pigeons. "You travel alone?"
"I am."
"Good. Every woman should see Paris alone at least once." She studies me with sharp eyes. "You have the look of someone who has found herself."
The observation catches me off guard. "I'm working on it."
"No, no." She shakes her head firmly. "Not working. You have done it already. I see it in your eyes. You know who you are now."
After she leaves, I sit with her words. Maybe she's right. Maybe I've already found myself. I just needed to feel it.
On day six, I climb to Sacré-Cœur at sunset. The steps are crowded with tourists and locals, everyone turned toward the view of Paris spreading below. The sky burns orange and pink, and the city looks like something from a painting. Impossible, beautiful, and real all at once.
I sit on the steps, hugging my knees to my chest, and make a decision.
I'm ready.
Ready to love Dylan without fear. Ready to build a future together. Ready to stop protecting myself from happiness because I'm afraid of getting hurt. The risk will always be there. Loving someone means giving them the power to hurt you. But not loving someone because you're afraid means giving fear the power to hurt you instead.
I choose love.
Back at my hotel that evening, I send Dylan a text:I miss you. And I'm ready for you to join me for the last few days if you still want to.
His response is immediate:Booking a flight now. See you soon.
I laugh through happy tears, my heart doing something complicated and wonderful in my chest.
I spend day seven preparing. Finding the perfect café for our first morning together—a place in Montmartre with views of the city and pastries that make me want to weep. Planning a route through neighborhoods I've fallen in love with. Buying a new dress from a boutique where the owner speaks no English but somehow understands exactly what I need.
The dress is blue, simple but elegant, and when I try it on, I barely recognize myself. Not because I look different, but because I look like myself. Confident. Happy. Whole.
I'm not nervous about Dylan arriving. I'm excited. This trip has given me exactly what I needed: proof that I'm complete on my own. And now I get to share that completeness with someone who values it, celebrates it, deserves it.
On day eight, I wake up knowing that by tonight, Dylan will be here. I'll meet him at the airport, and we'll have three days to explore Paris together—two whole people choosing a partnership.
I stand on my balcony with morning coffee, watching Paris wake up. The bakery below opens, sending the smell of fresh bread drifting up. Church bells mark the hour. Someone practices piano in a nearby apartment, scales floating out an open window.
This is what healing looks like.
Chapter twelve
Avery
Istand in Charles de Gaulle Airport arrivals with my heart pounding and my palms sweating like a teenager waiting for prom. I've checked my phone six times in the last ten minutes, obsessively tracking Dylan's flight.
The arrivals board shows it landed twelve minutes ago, which means he's probably through customs by now, collecting his bag, and probably minutes away from walking through those doors.
I smooth down my dress for the hundredth time. The soft blue sundress I bought yesterday suddenly feels too much, too obvious. Watching families reunite around me, and couples embrace, and businessmen stride past with rolling luggage, I realize something that makes me smile.
Being happy alone is powerful. But choosing to share that happiness with someone who deserves it? That's even better.
The doors slide open, releasing another wave of travelers. An older couple shuffles through, then a woman with three children, then a man in a business suit talking loudly on his phone. I crane my neck, searching.
Then I see him.
Dylan walks through the arrivals gate looking tall and beautiful in dark jeans and a Henley, his hair slightly messy from the flight. His eyes scan the crowd systematically, and I watch the exact moment they land on me. The way his face transforms—relief and joy and something deeper that makes my chest constrict.
