She woke up to the sound of rain tapping the window.

The apartment was warm. Her plants were still alive. There was coffee brewing — a routine she made for herself and kept, even when no one was watching.

She sat at the window with her journal, wrapped in a blanket she picked out just because it felt soft, and wrote without trying to perform for anyone else.

She no longer lived by someone else’s preferences.
She no longer apologized for being “too much.”
She no longer needed to be chosen.

Because she had finally chosen herself.

And that choice, over time, rewrote everything.

She didn’t find the old version of herself. That girl was gone — and that was okay.
She found a stronger version. One shaped by grief and grit. One who could carry joy and pain without letting either define her.

She was alone, but never lonely.

She was whole, and still unfolding.

And every day forward — no matter what came — she would wake up and whisper to herself:

“I found you. I won’t lose you again.”