My Hope

A NEW BEGINNING

The days that followed felt endless.

Morning, afternoon, night — they all blended together in a colorless haze. I ate when I remembered. I slept when my body gave up.

Sometimes, I simply sat by the broken window, staring outside at the world I no longer belonged to. It felt like I was watching life from a distance, as if I was no longer a part of it. The children played in the street, the neighbors went about their business, and the world seemed to spin without me. But through it all, Cherry stayed.

At night, when the nightmares twisted my sleep into something violent, I would wake up gasping — and there Cherry would be, curling herself into the crook of my arm, purring so faintly it almost sounded like the beat of a second heart. The warmth of her small body against mine was a comfort I hadn’t known I needed. In a way, I was still trapped in that night. In the blood, in the screaming, in the silence that followed.

And yet, with Cherry’s soft presence by my side, it wasn’t as heavy as before. It didn’t crush me completely. The nights were still long, and the pain still lingered like a shadow, but there was something about the simple act of having her there that helped keep the worst of it at bay.

On the loneliest mornings, she would meow sharply at me — almost like scolding me — until I got out of bed. Her little voice was a small command, a reminder that I had to keep going. Some days, that simple act felt like climbing a mountain. But Cherry didn’t give up. So neither could I.

Maybe it wasn’t about feeling strong. Maybe it was just about showing up. Showing up for myself. For the life I had left, even if it didn’t feel like much.

One evening, I found myself in the old backyard — a place I hadn’t dared visit since that night. The grass had grown wild. The flowers Mama used to plant were choked by weeds. The garden, once so full of life, now felt forgotten. Yet, despite it all, Cherry darted ahead of me, chasing a falling leaf with kittenish excitement. Her joy was so pure, so innocent, and it made me pause. I watched her, and for the first time in weeks, my lips twitched into something almost like a smile.

The world was still ugly. Still broken. The house was still full of emptiness, and the pain in my heart had not faded. But maybe — just maybe — there were tiny pieces of beauty left. If I looked hard enough, if I allowed myself to see it.

Maybe survival wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe it wasn’t enough to simply sit here, breathing but not living.

I sat with Cherry on the broken front steps as the sun set, painting the world in bruised colors of orange and purple. The wind carried the scent of rain and earth, and I closed my eyes, feeling the air brush across my skin. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel something that wasn’t sorrow.

“I can’t stay like this forever,” I whispered into the wind.

Not if Mama and Daddy were watching. Not if I still had a life left to live. I didn’t know what that life would look like yet, but I knew it couldn’t be stuck in the past.

Cherry nudged her tiny head against my arm, a silent agreement. I wasn’t sure what the future would bring, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I might have a small part to play in it.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. I didn’t know how to fix everything. But maybe I didn’t have to know. Maybe it was enough to promise myself one thing:

To try.

Try to smile once a day.

Try to clean one corner of the broken house.

Try to dream again, even if the dreams were small.

It didn’t have to be perfect.

It didn’t have to be grand.

It just had to be real.

That night, before I crawled into bed, I whispered into the dark:

“I’ll try.”