The city lights flicker outside my window like a thousand tiny stars brought down to earth.
I am brewing a cup of chamomile tea, the same kind I drank that night.
The steam rises from the mug, twisting and disappearing in the dim light, but it doesn’t feel like a ghost anymore.
It just feels like steam.
The apartment is different now.
The walls are covered in art I’ve collected from my travels. The shelves are overflowing with books on architecture and design.
The cheap furniture from my early struggling days has been replaced with pieces I designed myself.
This space is a reflection of me.
It is calm.
It is strong.
It is peaceful.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
For a split second, a ghost of the old anxiety flickers in my chest.
A reflex.
But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
I walk over and look at the screen.
An unknown number.
The area code is from Tulsa, the city near the small town they moved to.
It could be anyone.
A wrong number, a sales call, or it could be one of them, reaching out from the ruins of their lives, looking for a lifeline.
The old Nova would have been paralyzed by that ringing.
Her heart would be pounding, her mind racing with a toxic cocktail of hope and fear.
She would have answered, unable to resist the pull of that broken connection.
But I am not the old Nova.
I watch the phone ring, the screen lighting up and going dark, a desperate, silent plea.
I don’t feel anger.
I don’t feel hatred.
I don’t even feel pity.
I feel nothing but a quiet, gentle peace.
A boundary.
I let it ring until it stops, until it goes to voicemail.
A voicemail I will never listen to.
I pick up my warm mug of tea and walk back to the window, looking out at the glittering city that I now call home.
And I finally understand.
Peace doesn’t come from getting an apology.
It doesn’t come from them finally understanding the pain they caused.
It doesn’t come from watching them fail.
Peace isn’t something they can give you or take away.
It comes from freeing yourself.
It comes from the moment you stop waiting for them to fix you and you start building your own life.
I take a sip of my tea.
The warmth spreads through me, a comforting presence in the quiet of the night.
And I smile.
A real smile.
A smile that reaches my eyes.
Into the quiet of my apartment, I whisper the two words that started it all.
But this time, they mean something completely different.
“Got it.”
It’s not a reply to them anymore.
It’s a promise to myself.
I’ve got this.
I’ve got my life.
I finally, truly got it.
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes. Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.