Chapter 12: Shadows of Yesterday
542 Words
The days rolled by slowly, marked by quiet routines and small victories. Nina found solace in her new life—folding veils, sewing beads, sipping tea during lunch breaks, and walking home as the sun melted behind the skyline.
But trauma wasn’t something that faded with time.
It echoed.
And some days, it screamed.
One morning, as she arranged a row of lace gloves on the bridal display, a customer entered the shop wearing a scent—Sebastian’s cologne. That sharp, woody fragrance that once lingered on her skin for days.
Nina froze.
Her breath caught.
For a split second, she was back in his marble bathroom, crying silently while dabbing makeup over her bruised cheekbone. Her chest tightened, her vision blurred.
“Are you okay?” Madam Elsie asked gently, placing a steadying hand on her back.
Nina nodded, blinking hard. “Just… dizzy for a moment.”
Later, in the staffroom, she stared into the mirror and whispered, “You’re safe now. You’re not there anymore.”
But part of her still felt trapped in the shadows of yesterday.
Ama noticed too.
They sat on the rooftop one evening, eating roasted plantains and groundnuts, their legs dangling off the edge.
“You’re doing so well,” Ama said. “But healing isn’t always a straight line.”
Nina nodded. “I keep thinking I’m over it, and then… something small drags me back.”
“That’s not weakness, Nina. That’s memory. And your body is trying to protect you.”
“But I hate that he still lives in my mind,” Nina whispered.
Ama leaned in closer. “Then evict him. Every day. One thought at a time.”
The photographer returned the next evening.
His name was Kweku.
He found her sitting on the bridge again, sketching gown designs in her notebook.
“You always draw?” he asked.
“When I’m trying to escape,” she replied.
He smiled, settling beside her. “Then keep drawing. You never know who those sketches might save.”
She laughed softly. “That’s poetic.”
“I take photos. You sketch dresses. We’re both trying to capture beauty in broken places.”
She looked at him, really looked this time. There was something disarming in his presence. No pressure. No expectations. Just kindness.
He didn’t ask questions about her past.
And she didn’t offer.
But somehow, their silences spoke louder than words.
That night, Nina took a long shower and stood in front of the mirror again.
She traced the faint scar on her wrist—the one from the night Sebastian had thrown a glass that shattered near her. It had healed. But it would always be there.
A mark.
A memory.
But not a definition.
She picked up her notebook and began a new page.
At the top, she wrote:
“Things I Deserve.”
She filled the page.
And not once did she write money.
She wrote:
Respect
Peace
Laughter
Health
Freedom
Real love
A family who chooses me
Nights without fear
A future that belongs to me
She folded the paper and tucked it under her pillow.
Because she needed to read it again tomorrow.
And the day after that.
Until her soul believed every word.
- Writer
