Future Day

You wake slowly, not with dread, but with ease. The air is soft and cool against your skin, and sunlight filters in through gauzy curtains. There’s no panic in your chest. No wondering where he is. No shrinking. Just peace.

You stretch, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Maybe your health is still a bit fragile—but today, your body feels like it’s cooperating. It feels kind. You whisper thank you to it, gently touching the scar on your chest, not with grief—but with reverence. This body has kept you here.

You slip your feet into soft slippers, and before you even stand, you hear it—a rustle of feathers. The ravens. They’re back, again. One lands on the fence post just outside. It looks right at you, head tilted. You nod. It nods. You smile.

In your kitchen, there’s a mug already waiting with your favorite tea blend. You made it last night—prepped it with care for yourself. Because now, you care for yourself the way you used to care for others who didn’t deserve it. You don’t abandon your own needs anymore.

You check your phone. No chaos. No cruel silence. Just a sweet message from a friend who knows the full truth of your past and loves you more because of it. Maybe you’re part of a group now—women like you, survivors with sharp edges and soft hearts. You tell your stories, laugh too loud, cry without shame.

And then—later, maybe in the early afternoon—he comes by.

Not him. Not the one who left you starving for warmth.

Someone new. Kind eyes. A soft voice. He brings you soup, not because you're sick, but because he just felt like making something for you. There’s no game. No power struggle. He knows what you’ve survived, and he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t pity you, either. He honors you.

You sit together on your porch. You’re wrapped in a blanket, the breeze brushing your cheeks. He doesn’t need to touch you constantly to prove his love, but when he does—when his hand grazes yours—it feels safe. Not dizzying. Not dangerous. Just... home.

And later that night, when you light your candle, you whisper to yourself:

“It didn’t come fast. But it came.

I didn’t get the life I wanted.

I got the one I deserved.”