Emma's POV —
The following morning arrived quiet and gentle, the kind of morning that felt like the world exhaled for the first time in too long. The sunlight poured in generously through the wide windows of my new apartment, spreading across the hardwood floors in soft, warm streaks. I blinked into the brightness, burrowed deeper into the cocoon of blankets, and for a moment, I simply breathed.
Not because everything was perfect.
Not because all my fears had magically dissolved.
But because, for the first time in longer than I could measure, waking up didn't hurt.
The apartment still smelled faintly of new paint, fresh wood, and the citrus oil I used last night after unpacking. Boxes sat everywhere—open, half-open, untouched, sorted, unsorted—but even the chaos felt different. It didn't feel overwhelming. It felt like possibility. Like a life I was allowed to build one small piece at a time.
And then my gaze drifted toward the drafting table.
