There's a forever kind of magic in some moments, just like there's a forever kind of feeling for the dark-haired, amber-eyed boy who will always be a part of my story, even if he's not my ending. I don’t think Nate was ever meant to be my ending, but rather the catalyst that helped me find my own beginning. Some people come into your life not to stay, but to show you who you're meant to become. Like seasons changing, life moves in both directions—forward and backward—and the choices we make ripple through both.

This past year has taught me that nothing is permanent.

Not moments, not feelings, not people.

Everything is fleeting.

But maybe that's the point.

"Sometimes we get second chances not just for ourselves, but for all the people who need us in their story."

Standing in this empty room that holds so many memories, I finally understand what Dad meant.

London isn't just a destination—it's a declaration.

A second chance, a statement that says: I choose me.

I choose my dreams, my growth, my happiness. I choose to no longer be defined by the pain I've endured and suffering I've chosen. Grief is really just love with nowhere to go. All of that unspent love gathers in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and the hollow part of your chest. It builds until you think you might shatter from the weight of it. But you don't.

You learn to carry it, to let it shape you into someone stronger, someone deeper, someone more real. Because maybe that's the point of second chances—they're not about erasing what was, but about becoming who you need to be for all the chapters yet to come.

As I zip up my last bag, I feel it—that flutter of excitement mixed with fear, that electric current of possibility running through my veins. This is what it feels like to choose yourself. To step into the unknown not because someone else pushed you, but because you're finally ready to fly.

Will things ever be the same? No.

But they're not meant to be.

Maybe the cracks are meant to serve as reminders of what you survived, what you overcame to become this new version of yourself. The healing lies in the cracks, in the glue that fills them, making them beautiful in their brokenness.

I glance around one last time before closing the bedroom door shut.

Camilla waits downstairs, buzzing with excitement about our London adventure. We're starting something new, something big, and for the first time in a long time, I feel ready.

Not just ready—eager.

Hungry for life in a way I'd forgotten I could be.