With consequences.
With the unspoken fear that it would be taken away if I got too comfortable.
But here?
Here, it just exists.
And yeah, the scenery indoors is just as appealing as the scenery outside. Which still makes me laugh a little.
Who knew Wranglers and flannel could be just as enticing as Armani and silk?
I shake my head at myself as I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, steam blooming around me.
It’s been a long day, the good kind—the kind that leaves my body tired but my mind clear.
I close my eyes and let the warm water hit my shoulders, washing away the last of the noise.
This cabin is tiny. Smaller than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
But when I really think about it, I’ve never truly lived alone before. I went from my childhood home to college dorms, to cramped apartments with roommates.
Then straight to Florida with Dan, carrying the weight of his expectations like they were mine.
It’s an old story. A tired one.
But I’m not trapped in it anymore.
I left.
I chose myself.
And now I’m here.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m standing on my own two feet—and it doesn’t feel nearly as terrifying as I thought it would.
In fact, it feels solid. Grounded.
I think about the things I tolerated.
The way I shrank to keep the peace.
His bad moods.
The constant badgering.
The demolition of my self-esteem.
The quiet erosion of my confidence until I started believing I deserved it.
Why did I stay so long?
The question doesn’t sting the way it used to.
Now it just feels distant.
Like I’m looking back at someone who didn’t know she had options yet.
I do now.
