Thank God.
The trial was set for six months later.
Emily spent that time rebuilding.
She re-applied to the hospital program.
She got a part-time job at a bookstore.
She started running again.
Slowly, the girl I knew started coming back.
But the fear didn’t disappear.
She still checked the locks twice before bed.
She still flinched at loud voices.
She still had nightmares.
One night, I woke to the sound of her crying.
I found her in the guest room, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
“I thought I was past this,” she said.
“You are past it.”
“Then why do I still feel like he’s here?”
I sat down next to her.
“Because trauma doesn’t follow a schedule, baby. It shows up when it wants. And all you can do is remind yourself that you’re safe now.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
“What if I never feel normal again?”
“Then we’ll figure out what your new normal looks like.”
She was quiet for a long time.
“I don’t want him to win,” she finally said.
“He didn’t.”
“It feels like he did.”
“He’s in jail, Emily. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re free. That’s not him winning. That’s you.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Okay.”
