Leaving

I wasn't ready to leave the hospital, but the world outside wouldn't wait forever. The discharge papers had been signed, and the nurses gave me a quiet send-off with polite smiles and murmured wishes for my recovery. I clutched a small bag of belongings in one hand, my other gripping Billie's arm like a lifeline. She didn't seem to mind.

The sunlight hit me the moment we stepped out of the building, and I flinched, raising a hand to shield my eyes. Everything felt too loud, too bright, too fast. Cars zipped by on the street, people walked past in clusters, chatting and laughing, their lives continuing uninterrupted. Meanwhile, I stood there, stuck between the person I had been and the person I was afraid to become.

"You okay?" Billie asked, her voice gentle.

I nodded, though it was a lie. "Just... a little overwhelmed."

She gave me a small smile, guiding me toward the car parked at the curb. "We'll take it slow."

The drive back to my apartment was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal clicking. Billie kept her eyes on the road, but every now and then, she'd glance over at me, as if checking to make sure I was still there.

When we pulled up outside my building, my stomach churned. I hadn't been back here since... since everything. The sight of the familiar brick facade, the small potted plant by the door that I'd forgotten to water—it all felt like a confrontation I wasn't ready for.

"You want me to come up with you?" Billie asked, turning off the engine.

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no, to prove I could do this on my own. But another part—the part that had been quiet for so long, the part that Billie had somehow coaxed back to life—knew I couldn't.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I do."

She nodded, grabbing her keys and stepping out of the car. I followed her, my legs feeling unsteady as we made our way to the door.

The apartment smelled stale when I walked in, like the air had been trapped too long. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a muted gray light. It felt like stepping into a snapshot of my life before everything fell apart—like time had frozen here, waiting for me to return.

I set my bag down on the couch and stood there, unsure of what to do. The weight of it all hit me again, and my chest tightened.

Billie moved past me, opening the curtains to let in some sunlight. "It's a little gloomy in here," she said, her tone light. "Let's fix that."

The light streaming in made the room feel less suffocating, but it also illuminated the mess I had left behind—dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered on the counter, laundry spilling out of a basket in the corner. It was a reflection of me, in a way: disorganized, neglected, forgotten.

"I don't even know where to start," I muttered, staring at the chaos.

"You don't have to do it all at once," Billie said, stepping beside me. "One thing at a time, okay?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath. She was right. I didn't have to fix everything in one day. I didn't have to prove anything to anyone, not even myself.

"Maybe I'll start with the mail," I said, more to myself than to Billie.

She smiled, leaning against the counter. "Good choice. I'll make us some tea while you sort through it."

As I sifted through the envelopes, I found a few unopened bills, some flyers, and a handwritten card. I paused, staring at the envelope. My name was scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting—Jess, one of my baristas.

I opened it slowly, pulling out a simple card. Inside was a short message:

Nat,

We're thinking about you. Take all the time you need.

—Jess and the team

My throat tightened as I read it. For all the guilt I had carried about letting them down, they had still thought about me. They hadn't forgotten me, even when I had tried so hard to forget myself.

"Everything okay?" Billie asked from the kitchen.

I held up the card. "It's from Jess. She and the team... they're thinking about me."

Billie's face softened, and she walked over, placing a steaming mug of tea on the table beside me. "See? People care about you, Nat. More than you realize."

I nodded, clutching the card to my chest. Maybe I wasn't as alone as I had thought. Maybe, just maybe, I could start to rebuild—not just the cafe, but my life. One step at a time.