It doesn’t happen all at once. There is no single morning where Willow wakes and everything is lighter, clearer, fixed.
Healing doesn’t move like that.
It moves in shifts. In quiet, almost unnoticeable changes that only reveal themselves when you stop and look back.
And Rayven, he has started to notice.
It’s in the way she reaches for the twins now.
Not hesitant. Not frozen between instinct and fear. But… intentional.
Present.
She still pauses sometimes. Still takes a breath before acting. But she acts.
That is the difference.
This morning, Talon fusses softly in his cradle. The sound is small. Barely more than a whimper.
Willow hears it immediately.
Rayven watches from across the room.
Not stepping in. Not preparing to intervene. Just observing.
She rises. No rush. No panic.
