The rain let up on Wednesday.
Maya stood on the porch, watching the last drops fall. The sun was starting to peek through the clouds, pale and watery, but it was there. A sign. Maybe that was enough. She tilted her face toward the light, letting the faint warmth touch her skin. The air smelled different—cleaner, like the world had been scrubbed clean. She could hear the drip of water from the eaves, the rustle of leaves shaking off the weight of the storm. It was small. Just a moment. But it felt like a beginning. She watched a bird shake its wings on a branch, sending a spray of water into the air, and something in her chest loosened. The world was still turning. Still healing. Still moving forward. She could feel the damp wood of the porch railing beneath her fingers, the cool breeze ag
