“She just turned ten months on Tuesday. It’s wild, right?”

“Wow.” The baby is absolutely gorgeous with tuffs of silky black hair, just like her mother’s. Her eyes are like sapphires, her cheeks round and pink. I look back to Tabitha across the table and find her gazing at me with a thoughtful expression. “What? Is there a bug in my hair?” I frantically swipe at my golden blonde tresses, while Tabitha laughs at me.

“You’re bug-free. I was just admiring you.”

I lower my arms, my features relaxing. “Oh.”

“You’re absolutely glowing, Cora. You look incredible,” she tells me, folding her hands around her coffee cup and tilting her head to the side, studying me further. “I’m proud of you.”

I let her words wash through me like a calming cleanse, my own smile blooming. The truth is, I feel incredible. Lighter. Softer. Free and weightless.

The last eight months have been nothing short of challenging, filled with uphill battles, hours upon hours of counseling and mental health struggles, and a promise to myself every single morning that I will be better than I was the day before.

I joined a meetup group for PTSD survivors and have made an abundance of new friends and kindred spirits. I took up bike riding as a form a therapy and have put on a healthy amount of weight and muscle mass, spiking my confidence levels and prompting me to splurge on a new wardrobe. I have monthly coffee dates with Tabitha, weekly dinners with my parents—along with Mandy and her new boyfriend—and regular girly movie nights with Lily and the occasional coworker. I take my dogs for a long walk every morning. I picked up summer hours at the school to keep myself busy and distracted. I listen to inspirational podcasts and audiobooks. I drink smoothies. I take my vitamins.

I even got a tattoo.

I won’t lie and say things are perfect now. I still have nightmares. I still sleep with the light on because the dark makes me uneasy. I still jump when someone touches me in an unfamiliar way, and I still mentally retreat sometimes, zoning out in the middle of a conversation when I don’t even realize it.

And… I still miss him.

But I’m healing. I’m learning. I’m growing. And there’s no going back to the person I was eight months ago—not ever.

“Thank you,” I reply softly, tucking a lock of recently highlighted hair behind my ear. “You look great, too. I swear you get prettier every time I see you.”

Her cheeks fill with rosy blush as she ducks her head, then nods to the lone coffee sitting beside me. “I ordered for you.”

“Ooh, thank you.” I reach for the drink, bringing it to my lips and sighing deep. “Vanilla cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. You’re my hero.”

It really is the little things.

Tabitha fiddles with one of her loose bracelets as she eyes my wrist. “Your tattoo looks great. It healed up nicely.”