Chapter 92 10 years later

Ten years later, the mural still stood on the side of the community mental health centre — a little faded from sun and rain, but still bright enough to make people pause as they walked by. The tree at its center had become a symbol in the town, a quiet reminder of hope, growth, and the way a single spark of light could change everything.

Amelia parked her car across the street and sat for a moment, watching the morning sun warm the painted branches. She still felt something in her chest whenever she saw it — a soft ache, a quiet pride, a memory of the girl she used to be.

The girl who thought she’d never escape the darkness.

The girl who whispered instead of speaking.

The girl who didn’t know she was allowed to take up space.

She smiled.

That girl had no idea who she would become.

The sign outside her building read:

Gage Psychological Services

Adolescent Mental Health & Trauma Support

Her name.

Her practice.

Her purpose.

Inside, the waiting room was warm and inviting — soft lighting, gentle colors, shelves filled with art supplies, sensory tools, and books. A few framed prints of the mural hung on the wall, each one capturing a different part of the painting that had changed her life.

Her receptionist waved. “Morning, Dr. Gage.”

“Morning,” Amelia said, shrugging off her coat.

She still wasn’t used to the title.

But she loved it.

Her first client of the day was a fourteen‑year‑old girl who had been struggling with anxiety and intrusive thoughts. Amelia sat with her for an hour, listening, guiding, offering the same steady reassurance she once needed so desperately.

“You’re not alone,” she told her gently. “And you’re not broken. You’re just hurting. And hurting people deserve help.”

The girl nodded, tears in her eyes.

Amelia felt something warm settle in her chest — the same warmth she felt every time she helped someone find their footing again.

This was why she had chosen this path.

This was why she had fought so hard to heal.

So she could help others do the same.

At lunchtime, she stepped outside to stretch her legs — and there he was.

Ryan leaned against her car, arms crossed, smiling the same soft smile he’d had since they were teenagers. His hair was a little shorter now, his jaw a little sharper, but his eyes were exactly the same.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered anyway. “You’re early.”

“I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“Still missed you.”

She laughed, and he pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead before resting a hand on her stomach.

“How are my girls doing?” he asked.

Amelia placed her hand over his. “We’re good. She’s been kicking all morning.”

Ryan’s face lit up. “She’s going to be a soccer player.”

“She’s going to be whatever she wants,” Amelia said.

He kissed her — soft, warm, familiar. “You ready for our appointment?”

She nodded. They had their twenty‑week scan that afternoon. A little girl. Their little girl.

Sometimes Amelia still couldn’t believe how far she’d come — from the girl who once felt invisible to the woman standing here now, loved, supported, and building a family of her own.

Sunday morning arrived with soft sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee.

Amelia walked into the café where her dad was already waiting, two mugs on the table — one black, one with extra sugar and a splash of vanilla, just the way she liked it.

He stood when he saw her, pulling her into a hug. “There’s my girl.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He stepped back, looking her over with a proud smile. “You’re glowing.”

“That’s because your granddaughter won’t stop kicking.”

He laughed. “She’s excited to meet us.”

They sat, sipping their coffee, talking about everything and nothing — work, the baby, the mural, the Sunday market they always visited afterward. Their weekly coffee dates had become a tradition, one they’d kept for nearly a decade.

“I’m proud of you, Amelia,” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

She blinked. “Dad…”

“No, really. Look at you. You built a life you once thought you’d never have. You help people every day. You’re… happy.”

She felt her throat tighten. “I am.”

“And you deserve it.”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for never giving up on me.”

He squeezed back. “Never.”

That evening, Amelia stood in front of the mural again, watching the colors glow in the golden light. Ryan stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, their baby kicking gently beneath his hands.

“It’s still beautiful,” he murmured.

“It saved me,” she said quietly.

“No,” he whispered into her hair. “You saved you.”

She leaned back against him, letting the moment settle into her bones.

She thought of Lola — the voice that once haunted her, the shadow that once controlled her. She hadn’t heard her in years. Not a whisper. Not a flicker. Just silence.

A peaceful silence.

A healing silence.

A silence filled with her own voice.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the warm evening air.

Her life wasn’t perfect.

But it was hers.

Full of love.

Full of purpose.

Full of light.

And she knew, deep in her heart, that the girl she used to be — the girl who once felt lost and small — would be proud of the woman she had become.

Amelia smiled softly.

She had found her voice.