The plane touched down in Washington, and my heart thudded like it was reminding me this moment was real, that I wasn't dreaming and that I have accepted this huge task.
Outside my window, the city was polished and cold—stone monuments, glinting towers, the illusion of calm control. Everything here looked like it had a place.
But I had brought something messier. Something human.
The Haven wasn’t built from marble, It was built from memory, from the pain of a woman, mothers, sisters, girl child.
A car met me at the gate, courtesy of the summit. The driver handed me a name tag with Naomi Thompson-Darlington – Keynote Speaker written in bold.
I swallowed hard.
It felt heavier than it looked, it wasn't the name tag that felt heavy, it was the responsibility that the name held.
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