The snow began to melt as January gave way to February, revealing patches of green grass and a world ready to bloom again. Lena stood by her window, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, watching drops of water slide down the glass. There was a metaphor in the changing seasons, one that mirrored her own journey.
It had been a month since her conversations with Ryder and River. A month filled with solitude, growth, and self-reflection. She had thrown herself into work, picked up painting again—a hobby she’d abandoned years ago—and started journaling each night. It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
That afternoon, she decided to visit the local park. The air was crisp but not biting, and the promise of spring lingered faintly in the breeze. She pulled on a light jacket, grabbed he
