The next morning arrived quietly.
No alarms blaring panic into her bones.No tightness in her chest before her eyes even opened.
Just light.
Soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, brushing across the walls of Lara's new bedroom like a gentle invitation. For a moment, she stayed still, listening—to the distant hum of the city, to her own steady breathing.
This is real, she reminded herself again.
She rose slowly, letting the cool floor ground her as she made her way to the bathroom. The shower steamed quickly, warmth loosening muscles she hadn't realized she'd been holding tense for years. She let the water run longer than necessary, eyes closed, shoulders relaxing under its steady rhythm.
No one knocking.No one questioning.No one waiting to criticize how long she took.
Afterward, she moved through her skincare routine with care, fingers gentle, unhurried. She applied her makeup lightly—just enough to feel polished, still herself. Looking at her reflection, she barely recognized the woman staring back.
She looked… rested.
In the kitchen, she prepared breakfast—simple but nourishing. Coffee brewed while the city stretched awake outside her windows. She ate standing at the counter, sunlight warming her skin, anticipation buzzing softly beneath her calm.
Then she dressed.
A tailored office outfit, crisp and professional. Heels that clicked confidently against the floor. She checked herself once more in the mirror, straightened her posture, and smiled.
"You've got this," she whispered.
At exactly 7:00 a.m., Lara locked her condo door behind her.
The company car waited downstairs, sleek and unfamiliar—but hers to use. Her international license sat safely in her wallet, another symbol of how prepared she had been, even when she hadn't felt brave.
The drive took less than twenty minutes.
Sydney flowed around her—efficient, alive, purposeful. She arrived at the office building with time to spare, heart steady, nerves present but manageable.
Inside, she was greeted by the manager first, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a warm handshake.
"You must be Lara," she said. "Welcome. We've been expecting you."
"Thank you," Lara replied, voice calm despite the flutter in her chest.
Introductions followed—her direct supervisor, then her boss. They sat together in a glass-walled meeting room overlooking the city. Questions were asked—not invasive, but intentional.
"Tell us about your background," her boss said.
Lara spoke honestly. About her studies. Her early start. Her discipline. Not about why she left—just that she had.
They listened.
Really listened.
By midday, she was at her desk, learning systems, meeting colleagues who smiled easily, offered help without judgment. She worked steadily, immersed, focused. The hours passed quickly.
For the first time in a long time, work didn't feel like an escape.
It felt like alignment.
By evening, she returned home pleasantly exhausted. She cooked lightly, then sat on her couch as the city darkened outside her windows. That's when she called home.
Her mother answered immediately.
"Lara? Chérie—are you okay?"
"I'm good," Lara said softly. "I'm really good."
They talked about her day, her office, the apartment. Then the tone shifted.
Her aunt's voice came on the line, hesitant. "Lara… your ex came by today."
Lara closed her eyes.
"He was angry," her aunt continued. "Demanding to know where you were. He caused a scene. We had to call the police to make him leave."
Silence stretched.
"I'm sorry," Lara finally said—not for leaving, but for the trouble.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," her mother said firmly. "We're proud of you."
Lara swallowed. "I'll contact him," she said. "Just once. To make it clear. There's no way back."
After they hung up, she sent one message. Clear. Final. No emotion. No explanation.
Then she turned her phone face down.
That night, she went to bed early, setting her alarm for dawn.
She didn't work weekends.
And she planned to run.
Morning greeted her again with quiet confidence.
She followed her routine—shower, skincare, breakfast—then pulled on her running outfit. Lightweight. Comfortable. Free.
The beach wasn't far.
Her jog began slowly, feet sinking slightly into damp sand, the air cool and salty. The ocean stretched endlessly beside her, waves rolling in with patient certainty.
Each breath felt lighter.
Her mind drifted—not backward, but inward. To the woman on the plane. Mireille's calm voice. Those are the bravest journeys.
Lara smiled to herself.
She was right.
She stopped after a while, heart racing pleasantly, and sat on the sand. AirPods in, music low. She tilted her face toward the sun, eyes closed.
And then—
Thud.
Something struck the side of her head—not hard, but unexpected.
"O—oh my God!" a voice shouted.
Lara pulled her AirPods out just as a man came jogging toward her, breathless, holding a volleyball.
"I am so sorry," he said quickly. "That was not supposed to go anywhere near you. Are you okay?"
She blinked, then laughed softly. "I think so. My pride might be bruised."
He smiled—wide, apologetic. "I swear I'm not usually this dangerous."
She stood, brushing sand from her hands. "I'll survive."
He hesitated, then gestured to the ball. "Let me make it up to you. At least let me properly apologize."
She opened her mouth to respond—
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen. Family.
"I should—" she said, already stepping back. "Sorry."
"No, of course," he replied, still smiling. "Maybe I'll see you around?"
She didn't answer.
She turned away, phone to her ear, walking back toward the shoreline—toward her future, unaware that some beginnings don't announce themselves loudly.
They simply collide.
And wait.