I turn, and everything inside of me stills.
Rosanna is here.
Chapter ten
Rosanna
There are different kinds of bravery. There’s the kind where you stand up. And the kind where you don’t walk away. Both can be good. I think I’m better at the second one. —Shay (Age 17)
Istand outside the ERS building for a full minute before I can make myself go inside.
Luna dropped me off ten minutes ago with a fierce hug and a whispered "You've got this."
But now that I'm here, staring at the sleek glass doors, I'm not sure I've got anything except a rapidly escalating heart rate and the urge to run.
My phone buzzes.
Luna:
Still standing outside?
I look up. She's parked across the street, watching me through her windshield. I manage a weak wave.
She texts again:
Go inside, Ro. Or get back in the car. But standing on the sidewalk looking panicked is not an option.
She's right. I take a breath, smooth down my burgundy dress, and push through the doors.
The lobby is quiet. A receptionist I don't recognize smiles at me. "Ms. Lopez? Third floor, Conference Room B. You can take the elevator on your right." I nod, not trusting my voice, and head for the elevator. My reflection in the polished doors shows a woman who looks far more composed than I feel.
The red dress was a good choice. It's simple, elegant, and not trying too hard.
The elevator doors open on the third floor. I can hear voices down the hall. They are low and careful. Like the sound of people waiting for something irreversible.
I follow the sound to Conference Room B.
I slip inside quietly, staying near the back. Inside, the room is set but quiet. Three couples. Three rows of chairs. A judge arranging papers at the front.
Tessa sees me then. She smiles and makes her way over.
"Here you are. Mr. O'Malley is over by the windows." She gestures, and I follow her gaze. Seamus is standing with his back to the window. Looking right at me.
He looks exactly like I expected—perfectly tailored suit, dark hair controlled, posture rigid. But there's something about the way he's standing that reads differently than it did at our meetings.
"We'll be starting any minute," Tessa moves away.
I clutch my canvas bag tighter. My sketchbook is inside it. Having it with me feels like proof that I'm still me.
I pull it out and flip to a blank page, more for something to do with my hands than because I plan to sketch.
But then I see the last drawing I did—a rough outline of the storefront, the way I imagine it could look with proper restoration. Windows full of light. Kids sitting on the steps with books. A small awning with hand-painted letters:Community Corner.My dream, captured in graphite and hope.
Seamus walks over to me. "Rosanna."
"Seamus." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. I close my sketchbook quickly before he can see what I was looking at.
"You brought your sketchbook." It's not a question. He noticed.
