Chapter 22
She Saved Me
In a single day, the attic was reborn. No longer a dusty exile of forgotten trunks and faded memories, it had become a sanctuary, an echo of what once was, and what could yet be.
Sunlight poured through the freshly wiped window. The antique rocking chair rested by the cold hearth with the stoic grace of a guardian, while an ornate mirror reflected a space that dared to breathe again.
My grandmother's cabinet all dark wood and carved tenderness now stood polished and purposeful. This room was more than tidied; it was claimed. By me. For me.
It was beautiful but I needed funds, real money for fresh paint, fabric, a mattress that wasn't decades old. My father's purse was closed. My independence would have to be earned, not inherited.
My eyes drifted to the herbalist cabinet. I pulled open the creaking drawers with a tight swallow of hope and grit. This wasn't nostalgia, it was inventory.
