The Storm between Us

Chapter 3

The brick house in Georgia felt quieter than usual that evening.

The rain tapped softly against Amber's window while the gray sky covered the city in a blanket of sadness. She sat curled up on her worn couch, her knees pulled close to her chest, a cup of chamomile tea slowly growing cold in her hands.

She had decorated the apartment as best as she could with what little she had brought from California. A few candles sat on the coffee table. A small plant rested near the window. A couple of framed pictures sat on a shelf.

To anyone else, it might have looked like a peaceful little home.

But to Amber, some nights it still felt unfamiliar.

Temporary.

Like she was just passing through.

She glanced around the room and sighed.

A few weeks.

That was all it had been.

A few weeks since she packed her entire life into boxes and drove across states to a place where nobody knew her name, her story, or the things she was trying desperately to leave behind.

Georgia was supposed to be her fresh start.

A place where she could breathe.

A place where Durrell couldn't find her.

A place where she didn't have to look over her shoulder every time she walked into a grocery store, wondering if she would see him standing there with that same charming smile he always wore before the monster underneath revealed itself.

But healing wasn't as simple as changing locations.

You could move a thousand miles away from your pain and somehow it still found a way to follow you.

Her phone buzzed.

The sound pulled her from her thoughts.

A smile spread across her face when she saw the names on the screen.

Jasmine & Milly 💕

Her best friends.

Her sisters by choice.

The people who had held her together when she thought she was falling apart.

She answered the video call.

"There she is!" Jasmine screamed dramatically. "Miss Georgia herself! Look at you, acting all fancy with your Southern accent already."

Amber rolled her eyes and laughed.

"I do not have a Southern accent."

"Give it a few months," Milly teased. "You're gonna be saying 'y'all' every five seconds and calling everybody sugar."

"I already say y'all," Amber admitted.

Both of her friends gasped.

"Oh, she's gone," Jasmine said, pretending to cry. "California lost her."

The three women burst into laughter.

For the next two hours, the distance between them disappeared.

They talked about everything.

The ridiculous customers they had dealt with at old jobs.

Their high school memories.

The time Jasmine tried to cut her own bangs before senior pictures and had to wear a headband for a month.

Their favorite beach spots.

Late-night taco runs.

The music they would blast while driving down the California coast with the windows down.

For a little while, Amber felt like she was back home.

Before everything changed.

Before the hospital rooms.

Before funerals.

Before police reports.

Before learning that someone who said they loved you could be the person who hurt you the most.

Eventually, Jasmine's smile faded.

"How are you really doing, Amber?"

The question settled heavily in the room.

Amber looked away.

She knew her friends could always tell when she was pretending.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm trying," she whispered.

The two women stayed quiet.

Not because they didn't know what to say.

But because they knew she needed to speak.

"Some days I wake up and I feel okay," Amber continued. "I clean the apartment, I explore Georgia, I convince myself I'm moving forward."

Her voice cracked.

"And then some days I miss Mom so much I can't breathe."

Jasmine wiped her eyes.

"And then I think about everything with Durrell and I get angry at myself."

"Amber—"

"No, I do. I keep thinking, how did I let somebody treat me like that? How did I stay so long?"

Milly shook her head.

"Because you loved him."

Amber looked up.

"You were loyal to somebody who didn't deserve your loyalty," Milly continued. "That doesn't make you weak."

Jasmine nodded.

"And look at you now. You left. You survived. That's the part you need to remember."

Amber smiled through her tears.

She didn't know what she had done to deserve friends like them.

After they said their goodbyes and promised to visit soon, the apartment became quiet once again.

Too quiet.

The silence had a way of making old memories louder.

She reached for her phone and opened the hidden folder she tried not to visit.

Evidence.

The word alone made her stomach twist.

Pictures of bruises around her wrists.

A swollen eye.

A split lip.

Scratches along her arms.

Proof of every moment she once convinced herself wasn't "that bad."

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled.

Then she stopped.

There was an old message from Durrell still saved on her phone.

Baby, I'm sorry. I lost control. I swear I'll never hurt you again.

The same apology.

Over and over.

Different days.

Different injuries.

Same promise.

Her thumb hovered over his number.

For a second, she wanted to call.

Not because she missed him.

But because trauma had a strange way of making someone miss what almost destroyed them.

Her heart remembered the flowers.

The good mornings.

The way he held her after he made her cry.

But her mind remembered everything else.

The fear.

The screaming.

The nights she slept with one eye open.

Slowly, Amber locked her phone and placed it face down on the table.

"No," she whispered.

It was the first time she had consciously chosen herself over him.

And somehow, that felt like the biggest victory of all.

A few minutes later, she grabbed the old photo album she brought from California.

Her hands carefully turned the pages.

There she was.

Her mother.

Bright smile.

Warm eyes.

A woman who somehow made every room feel safer.

Amber remembered being eight years old, sitting at the kitchen table while her mother braided her hair before school.

"You know what I love about you, Amber?" her mother had asked.

"What?"

"You have the kindest heart."

Young Amber had smiled.

"Is that a good thing?"

Her mother laughed.

"It's a beautiful thing. Just make sure you never let people take advantage of it."

The memory broke her.

Because her mother had been right.

Amber had a kind heart.

She just gave it to the wrong person.

"Hey, Mama," she whispered, touching the picture.

"I'm trying to listen to you now."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Then her eyes drifted to the empty place in her life.

Her father.

No photographs.

No stories.

No birthday cards.

Nothing.

She had spent years wondering whether he ever thought about her.

Did he ever wonder what her favorite color was?

Did he know she loved old R&B music?

Did he know she was afraid of thunderstorms as a child?

Did he know she grew up without him?

She wanted to hate him.

Sometimes she did.

But other times she was simply a little girl wondering why she wasn't enough for her father to stay.

"What would it feel like to have a dad?" she whispered into the empty room.

Only the rain answered.

Needing to escape her thoughts, Amber picked up her phone and opened i********:.

She scrolled through cooking videos, funny skits, and makeup tutorials.

Then a video stopped her.

Become a Certified Nursing Assistant in just six weeks. Begin your healthcare journey today.

Amber stared.

A CNA.

She had always been a caregiver.

She was the person who stayed late to help someone.

The friend who listened.

The daughter who sat beside her mother during treatments, holding her hand and reminding her she was loved.

Maybe this wasn't random.

Maybe this was a door opening.

Before fear could talk her out of it, she clicked the application.

Name.

Address.

Previous experience.

Career goals.

When she reached the last question—Why do you want to become a CNA?—she paused.

Then she typed:

Because I know what it feels like to need someone to care for you. I want to be that person for someone else.

She pressed submit.

Her heart pounded.

"What am I doing?" she laughed nervously.

But beneath the fear was a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

Real hope.

That night, Amber climbed into bed.

The rain slowly began to fade.

For the first time since arriving in Georgia, the apartment didn't feel like a place she escaped to.

It felt like a place she was building.

Just as her eyes started to close—

Ding.

Her phone lit up.

New Email.

Her heart jumped.

She opened it immediately.

Congratulations, Amber. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into our six-week Certified Nursing Assistant training program. Please review the attached documents for your orientation date and required materials.

For a moment, she simply stared.

Then she covered her mouth.

Tears filled her eyes.

But these tears didn't carry grief.

They didn't carry fear.

They carried pride.

She sat up and looked toward the ceiling.

"Mama," she whispered with a trembling smile, "I hope you can see me."

The next morning, Amber woke before her alarm.

The sun poured through her window.

The storm from the night before was gone.

She made herself a cup of coffee, opened her curtains, and looked outside at her new life waiting for her.

For the first time in years, she didn't feel like a victim of her story.

She felt like the author of a new chapter.

And this time, she was going to write one filled with healing, purpose, and a love she first learned to give herself.

Outside, the last drops of rain disappeared.

The storm was over.

And Amber was finally beginning to bloom.