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Chapter One
Spencer
Thescentofagedwood fills my nostrils as I stand in my workshop, surrounded by the soft tremble of tools on the old wooden floor. Sawdust clings to my clothes, creating a layer of fine particles that add texture to my simple black leggings and worn t-shirt. The antique dresser, a diamond-in-the-rough find from a local thrift store, sits before me, patiently awaiting its transformation.
My green eyes narrow with determination as I lean into the task, gripping the sander with practiced precision. The machine vibrates against my palms, blurring my vision momentarily as I guide it over the rough surface of the dresser. As the old varnish peels away, I imagine the vibrant colors and intricate patterns that will adorn this once-forgotten piece, giving it new life.
Sweat trickles down my brow, dampening the stray strands of hair that have escaped from the messy bun atop my head. My muscles tense with each pass of the sander, the rhythmic motion becoming more demanding as I work to erase every imperfection. Each stroke brings me closer to revealing the hidden beauty within the wood, fueling my resolve to see this project through to completion.
“Spencer,” I say to myself, since I haven’t been able to hear anyone else saying my name for so many years. “This is going to be a masterpiece.”
As the dust settles and the dresser’s true form begins to emerge, I feel a connection with the neglected furniture. Just like this battered piece, I too, have faced my own share of challenges and setbacks—my hearing loss being just one of them. But I’ve learned to adapt and find solace in the quiet world surrounding me.
In this workshop, I’m free to create and dream. Here, I can transform not only furniture, but myself, crafting a future where I can flourish as both an artist and a person. It’s in these moments, covered in sawdust and sweat, that I find my truest self—the Spencer O’Hagan who is strong, capable, and unafraid to chase her passions.
“Almost there,” the voice in my head whispers, my breath hitching with anticipation as I make one final pass with the sander. The rough surface now smooth beneath my fingertips, I take a step back to admire my handiwork, my heart swelling with pride at the progress I’ve made.
“Another step closer,” I think, grinning through the fatigue. “One day, this will all pay off.”
With renewed energy, I set down the sander and brush away the remaining sawdust. The old dresser stands before me, a blank canvas awaiting my creative touch. Together, we will continue on this journey of turning the forgotten into something beautiful and cherished once more. And as I reach for my paintbrush, I know that no matter how challenging the path may be, I will see this project through to the end—because that’s what fighters do.
~~~
Just as I’m about to dip my paintbrush into a vibrant shade of turquoise, the workshop door swings open. Startled by the movement, I lift my gaze to see Gianna, my adventurous and outgoing friend, standing in the doorway.
“Spence! Your aunts sent me to find you,” she announces; after years of friendship, I can read her lips easily. Her wild, curly hair frames her face like a golden halo. “They said you’ve been cooped up in here for days.”
“Hey, Gia,” I make the signs with my hands, trying to hide my frustration at the interruption. “I’m just finishing up this dresser. What’s going on?”
“Come out with us tonight!” Gianna’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “We’re grabbing drinks downtown. It’ll be fun, I promise!”
I hesitate, my gaze drifting back to the half-finished dresser. My fingers twitch with the urge to continue painting, to make progress on the project that feels so close to my heart. But Gianna’s infectious energy pulls me in, tempting me with the promise of a carefree night surrounded by friends.
“Thanks, but I really should stay home and work on this. I need to get it done.” She knows how much we need the money. Our bills are starting to pile up.
“Spencer, you can’t keep hiding away in your workshop all the time,” Gianna insists, stepping closer and placing a hand on my shoulder. “You need to take breaks and have some fun, too. Trust me, one night won’t hurt.”
I look into her eyes, searching for the right answer. Part of me wants to give in to her persuasive charm, to let go of my responsibilities for a few hours and just enjoy myself. But another part—the part that’s determined and driven—knows that I can’t afford to waste any time. Not when my dreams are finally starting to take shape.
“Gianna, I appreciate the invitation,” I signal slowly, my resolve strengthening.“But I really need to focus on my projects right now. They’re important to me.”
“Alright,” she makes a dramatic sigh, her disappointment evident. “Just remember, life’s too short to spend it all working. You deserve to have fun and let loose sometimes, too.”
“I know,” I agree, nodding. “And I will—when the time is right. But for now, this is where I need to be.”
Gianna gives me a tight-lipped smile, her eyes softening with understanding. “Okay, Spence. Just don’t forget that we’re here for you, no matter what.”
“Thanks, Gia,” I reply, touched by her concern. “I won’t forget.”
As she leaves the workshop, I feel a twinge of guilt for turning down her offer. But deep down, I know that I’m making the right choice. Because even though my friends and family may worry about me, they can’t see the transformation that’s taking place within these four walls—the metamorphosis from a caterpillar into a butterfly.
Back to work. My words resonate in my head while picking up my paintbrush once more. And as I watch the turquoise paint glide across the wooden surface, I find myself smiling—because, in this moment, I am exactly where I need to be.
As I continue to work on my dresser, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe Gianna is right. Maybe I do need a break. After all, my hands are cramping from gripping the paintbrush for so long.
Alright.
I text her after setting down my paintbrush and wiping my hands on my leggings.
