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Almost is enough.

Mercy watches me. “You will eventually.”

“Maybe.”

“Not today.”

“No.”

We keep walking.

The school is quiet when we go inside.

Lark looks up first, her expression brightening until she sees my face. The brightness disappears. Junie stops labeling a tray. Petal slowly lowers the magazine she is reading.

Nobody asks.

Thank God.

I walk to my workstation.

My gloves are still where I left them yesterday. The practice face waits beneath the light.

Wax. Color. Damage that makes sense.

Damage I know how to fix.

I put on my gloves.

Mercy comes up beside me. “You're working?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

“Fair.”

I pick up the palette knife.

My hands are steady.

That surprises me.

I smooth a wax edge once, then again.

Lark quietly turns the radio down. Junie moves closer to Petal. Nobody speaks.

I am grateful.

I work.

It takes almost twenty minutes before I realize I am not thinking about Bitter every second.

Only every other second.

Progress.