A few days prior, I had the bulky fiberglass cast cut off my ankle, finally. And on Tuesday, I head back to the office. I am itching to get back to my patients and back to a somewhat regular schedule. But today. Today, we are also celebrating Rae moving out of Pearson House, and into her long-term rental, which is situated nearby.
Pearson House will return to just ours.
The way it should be.
My phone pings and I swipe up to accept a reminder about my upcoming therapy appointment. I smile as I reflect on the progress I’ve made over the past few weeks. Zayn had diligently taken me to all of my appointments, and waited for me in the parking lot to bring me home when they were done. Just always collecting my broken pieces. And seeing to their mending.
I stick my nose in the picnic basket and inhale the divine smell of fresh sourdough, soft French cheeses, and sweet berries. Zayn’s long arms wrap around my waist and his hands settle across my lower belly. His thumbs glide over my new red sweater, back and forth. I lean into his touch. I let my head rest against his chest, our breathing falling into a rhythm together, steady and calm. For the first time in so long, I feel safe. Not trapped in thoughts, but fully here, anchored in my body. As if by magic, Zayn produces a rhododendron, and gently tucks it behind my ear.
We find what we need when we need it.My father’s words replay in my head.I believe them now.
Zayn had found Dad when the moment called for it. Bundy had found me when I was unraveling. And I had found Zayn. Again. And he has healed me in ways I hadn't known that I needed.
And in the quiet certainty of that truth, I make a silent promise, not to repay, but to honor. By living. By thriving. By tending to this garden we’ve planted, from the wreckage of loss.
THE END
