The key turned in the lock with a faint click, and Beckett pushed open the door to her
apartment. The space greeted her with a stillness that felt both familiar and strange.
She stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. For a moment, she stood there,
her hand resting on the doorknob, as if anchoring herself in the present.
The apartment was just as she'd left it—tidy, organized, untouched by the chaos that had
consumed her life in the last days. But it didn't feel the same. It felt heavier, like the air
itself carried the weight of everything she'd been through.
Beckett set her bag down by the couch, her movements deliberate, almost mechanical.
She walked to the window, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter as she
passed, a grounding gesture more than anything else.
The city outside is alive with lights and noise, but up here, it was quiet. Too quiet. She
pressed her palm against the cool glass, her reflection faint but unmistakable. Her face
looked tired, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something deeper—something she
wasn't ready to name.
She turned away from the window and sank onto the couch, leaning back and closing her
eyes. The silence wrapped around her, but it wasn't comforting. It pressed down on her, a
reminder of how much had changed.
Her therapist's words echoed faintly in her mind: "Give yourself permission to feel it. All of
it. The good, the bad, and the in-between."
Beckett opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in slow,
measured breaths. For the first time now, she allowed herself to stop. To be still. To
acknowledge the ache in her chest and the knot in her stomach without pushing it away.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, breaking the silence. She reached for it, her hand
hesitating over the screen. The text was from Ryan."Just checking in. We're here if you
need anything."
Her lips twitched into the faintest smile. She typed back quickly:"Thanks. I'll be okay."
She wasn't sure if it was true, but for now, it was enough.