Karina closed her eyes. “I used to do things to . . . hurt myself. And that actually made me feel better for a while. Isn’t that fucked up?” She gave a wry laugh.

“Look at me.” Micah turned her around to face him. She expected to see his pity but met only compassion in his eyes. He placed his palms on either side of her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid.”

“Then whose?” She had never voiced this before, the unyielding blame she’d absorbed.

“Well, your parents for one, for putting you in that position,” Micah said. “And for neglecting you afterwards. That’s why they can’t help you with this. They have their own pain consuming them. But you have me. You have all of us now.” He held her in a tight embrace, and she allowed herself to stay there until her tears ran dry.

“You’ve crossed an important barrier, Karina,” Micah said. “You allowed yourself to look at the pain in your past, to look at it head on and say, You don’t have power over me. You don’t define me.” He looked deeply into her eyes.

She nodded, holding his gaze.

“You know why that is? Because you’ve opened yourself to the message, to the power of being here and living in this way. You know you deserve something greater than what you’ve had until now. You’re destined for it.”

He stood up and walked past her, closed the door to her bedroom and locked it. He leaned his back against the door and, as if by magnetic force, she was drawn to him. “I know what you’re feeling,” he whispered, reaching out to caress her cheek with the lightest touch. “It’s undeniable, between us.” They kissed, and soon they were on her bed, the culmination of so much heat simmering between them. Micah was confident as his hands moved over her body, yet gentle as she knew he would be. Afterwards, she began to cry again, but it was from a rush of emotion and gratitude. Karina did feel as if she had crossed a threshold, leaving behind Henry, James, college, her razor blades and everything else that had plagued her. Before they fell asleep, she rose to open the door, but Micah told her to leave it closed. That night, as she lay watching him sleep, she was struck by her fortune: to have met Micah when she did, to have the power of his love and presence in her life.

* * *

The next morning, Karina woke to find Micah gazing at her. “Serotina,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically.

“Serotina,” he repeated, “is the Latin word for ‘late-flowering.’ You see it associated with a lot of fruit trees—plum, wild cherry. I was thinking it’s a beautiful name. For you.”

“For me?” Karina laughed. “I already have a name.”

“You have to be brave about crafting your own life now, your own story, not just accepting one that was given to you. You’re moving on from the past, from that person who suffered such trauma.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And ‘late-flowering’ has such a lovely connotation. It means: be patient, the best part’s still coming. It’s very pretty. Serotina.” He smiled at her. “Maybe Sero for short, like Sara.”