Excerpt 1
I had forgotten how charming Old Port could be or had never noticed it amidst all my drama. Not the people, but the place itself. The centuries-worn stone walls that somehow still stood in the woods. The sound of the ocean in the distance. All the quiet comforts of a hometown and its nostalgic beauty that haunts you long after you’ve left.  

I watched from the sidelines as the people I once considered peers repeated the same old circular paths, not noticing the furrows they were making in the process. I’d been one of them once, and I wanted to warn them but couldn’t find the words. Not that they would have listened. 

There is something about those born on the coast. Those who grow up knowing the closest path to walk to the ocean and who do not know the feel of fresh air without the taste of salt that lingers in its wake. For them, summer is endless, if not in season, then in mentality. 

Every day contained possibility, promising to be the one that wouldn’t end. That would change everything. That would make up for the threat of winter hanging in the storm clouds on a humid afternoon. I heard it in the lingering laughter and casual conversation of Old Port’s residents and thought that this easy enjoyment of the ordinary was possible for me too. But I also saw how those same people became too entangled in their comfortable lives, familiar relationships, and unquestioned world views to be willing, or perhaps even able, to consider what might be possible beyond the sheltered confines of Old Port.

So even as I began to appreciate the pleasure of simple enjoyments, I also felt the stir of what was possible for me in life, and I didn’t want to be lulled into complacency.

Excerpt 2
It felt like a fork in the road. I knew which path I should take. But the other path beckoned me.

Lex acted like it was easy, and I imagined many women felt the same. A man crosses a line, so you leave. They didn’t understand the slippery slope of abuse, the way red flags blend in with green ones when you’re in love. The love bombing that keeps you on the hook, filling you with hope that it won’t happen again. The way you trust them because you don’t yet know it will get worse. Until you do. 

But how can you go back? You were duped. Admitting defeat means showing them who you are: a woman so stupid she loved a predator and stayed even when she found out. As if love wasn’t worth fighting for. As if love could only be a rose without the thorn. 

Did they know what leaving takes? That it means losing a past along with a future? That it means starting over? Of course, it also means living, not just surviving. So maybe it was as simple as it was difficult. Maybe women should listen when their friends say to just leave. 

But maybe love could be soft like a petal if one was only brave enough to cut away the thorns.