Wildflower

Chapter 8: Challenges & Confidence

The spa is finally coming together. After weeks of planning and hard work, I can see it—the soft, soothing colors, the gentle lighting, the calm atmosphere I've dreamed of. The space is nearly ready to open, and I should feel nothing but pride. But as I place the last set of brochures on the reception desk, a familiar song begins to play on the radio in the corner.

The soft melody fills the room, slow and haunting. The moment the first notes hit my ears, I freeze. My hands stop moving, my heart skips a beat, and suddenly, I'm not in the spa anymore.

I'm back in the apartment with Matheo.

It's one of those nights—quiet, suffocating. This song was playing then too, a backdrop to his sharp words, cutting through the air like a knife. I can still hear them, as clear as if he's standing right next to me.

"You're pathetic, Stella. You can't even do this right. How do you expect to take care of Luna if you can't handle the basics?"

I remember the way I felt—small, like the walls were closing in on me. No matter how hard I tried, nothing was ever good enough. Every mistake, every doubt, he latched onto it, twisting it, making me feel like I was always in the wrong. The worst part wasn't even his words. It was how much I believed them. How I started to think that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

I'm frozen in place, the spa fading around me, the memory gripping me like a vice. My chest tightens, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. How did I let him take so much of me? How did I let myself shrink into someone I barely recognized?

"Stella?"

Nolan's voice pulls me back, snapping me out of the memory. I blink, the soft light of the spa coming into focus again. The song still plays, but it feels distant now, like background noise. I'm here, not in the apartment. Not with him.

"Are you okay?" Nolan's voice is gentle, full of concern. He's been organizing supplies near the baby jacuzzi, but now he's looking at me, his eyes soft and kind—so different from the eyes I used to face in moments like this.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words feel stuck in my throat. How do I explain this? How do I tell him that even in the safest of spaces, the past still has a way of finding me?

I take a deep breath and force a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... sometimes the past creeps up on me."

Nolan doesn't push. He doesn't ask for details or pry into what I'm not ready to share. Instead, he nods, his expression understanding. "I get it," he says quietly. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. But if not, that's okay too."

There's something incredibly comforting in the way he says it. No pressure. No expectation. Just quiet support. For the first time in a long time, I don't feel judged or weak.

I nod, feeling the tightness in my chest begin to ease. "Thanks," I whisper, meaning it more than I can express.

We stand there in silence for a moment, the song still playing in the background, but it doesn't feel as overwhelming now. I glance around the spa, this space I've built from the ground up, and the weight of the memory slowly starts to lift. This place—it's mine. It's a symbol of my strength, my independence. Matheo doesn't control this world. I do.

"You've come a long way," Nolan says after a pause, almost as if he's reading my mind. "You should be proud of everything you've done."

I look at him, his words sinking in. He's right. I have come a long way. The woman standing here today, building a new life for herself and Luna, is not the same woman who felt trapped and powerless in that apartment. I've shed that version of myself, piece by piece.