It was relief. That evening, I brought Hannah home. We walked through the empty rooms that now echoed with possibility instead of pain.
“It’s ours again,” she said, her small voice filling the silence. Six months later, the garden is blooming. My mother and Brittany moved in together after their own worlds fell apart — I’ve heard the shouting hasn’t stopped.
But here, the air is calm. Hannah says flowers grow faster when you stop yelling at them. I think she’s right.
Sometimes, the hardest part of healing isn’t fighting back — it’s realizing that walking away and reclaiming your peace is the greatest revenge of all.
