Page 143 of Scars and Crowns

My eyes fill. "But now you get to stay for yourself too."

I don't know what to say to that. So I lean into him instead. His arm comes around my shoulders immediately, pulling me against his side.

We sit there watching Sara celebrate her one-second victory while the poor dog looks deeply offended by the entire experience.

"I want to build it properly," I say after a while.

"The foundation?"

"The center." He nods. "I want it to have people who understand what they're doing. I want women to be able to walk in without feeling ashamed. I want them to have choices."

"They will."

I smile. "You say that very confidently."

"Because I know you."

I tilt my head against his shoulder. "You think I can actually do it?"

He looks down at me. "I don't think you can." I raise an eyebrow. He smiles. "I know you can."

I laugh softly. Across the lawn, Sara throws herself onto the dog again, apparently deciding that if obedience cannot be achieved through training, affection will have to do the job.

Yuvaan watches her for a moment. Then he looks back at me. "You've spent your whole life thinking you had to earn the right to want something." I go still. "Maybe you don't anymore."

The breeze moves through the trees above us, carrying the sound of Sara's laughter across the garden.

I look at my daughter. At the man beside me. At the palace I once thought I'd never see again. At the bookshop waiting for me beyond these gardens. At the idea slowly taking shape in my mind, something that belongs entirely to me, something born not from what happened to me but from what I want to do with what came afterward.

For years, the future has always felt like another thing I needed to get through. Another morning. Another bill. Another difficult conversation. Another day of making sure Sara was fed, safe, happy.

I never really stopped to wonder what I wanted when survival was the only thing on the list. Now I finally know. I want to build something. I want to heal. I want to raise my daughter without teaching her that strength means suffering quietly. I want to love this man without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want a life that isn't defined by the worst thing that ever happened to me.

And for the first time, wanting all of that doesn't frighten me.

It feels possible.

It feels like mine.

I rest my head against Yuvaan's shoulder and watch Sara laugh as the three-legged dog finally gives up and lets her put a flower behind its ear.

The future doesn't look like something I have to survive anymore. For the first time in years, it looks like something I get to build.

HOMECOMING

YUVAAN

I find Sara in the garden that morning, sitting on her heels beside the flower beds with a stick in one hand and a caterpillar on the other end of her attention. She isn't touching it, thankfully. She's simply following its progress across a broad green leaf, narrating every inch of its journey in a running commentary that seems to be intended for an audience only she can see.

"And now he's going this way," she tells the caterpillar solemnly. "Very slowly. Maybe because he's tired."

I crouch down beside her. "Princess." She looks up immediately. "Can I ask you for a favour?"

The caterpillar is forgotten. Her eyes narrow with interest. "What kind?"

"The important kind."

She drops the stick into the grass and turns completely toward me. "Okay. Tell me."