Peace
Gradually, she lets herself sink into the lulling, unbroken tranquility of an existence that she can't quite call a life yet: a steady, routine, utterly dull job as a legal secretary, and a few gradually emerging friendships through work and with other girls in the apartment building.
She's even been thinking of taking a gardening course.
Or some self-defense lessons.
Just now, she is feeling more or less composed, although bland in the sort of way that she's always found to happen when she purposely focuses on uninteresting details to avoid everything under the surface.
She can't help feeling complacent and amused, too, at how easy it's been to slip quickly and quietly back into the world.
She's just fished her keys out of her purse, when a squeal of laughter, followed by an indignant shout, and more laughter, startles her.
Mrs. Gibson's little girls. Adorable little carrot-tops, just like their Mama.
As the three redheaded children go careening past her door, she leans with her forehead pressed against the cool wood, until the waves of pain subside.