Where the Wounds Bloom

Chapter Four: Recluse.

Kari leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the rain begin to fall again outside her apartment window. The drops tapped softly against the glass, each one a reminder of the passage of time, of the constant ebb and flow of life. She had always found comfort in rainy days, in their quiet insistence, like the world was being washed clean, even if just for a moment. And after the conversation with Skye, she needed that comfort more than ever.

She glanced into the living room, where Skye had drifted off into a light, peaceful sleep on the couch. It was the first time in ages that she'd seen her sister look even remotely at ease, her features relaxed instead of drawn with worry. Kari's heart ached with a deep, protective love, and she silently prayed that Skye would find the peace she deserved, even if it took time.

Kari turned back to the window, her thoughts wandering as they often did during these quiet moments. She had learned early in life that the world was not always a kind place. Their childhood home-so often a battleground of words, expectations, and disappointments-had taught her that. Their mother's perfectionism, the unyielding criticism that left no room for mistakes, had cut deep, shaping them in ways that still lingered. For Skye, those wounds were raw and open, but for Kari, they had scarred over long ago, leaving a strange kind of resilience in their place.

She thought about that resilience, the kind that had kept her going when everything seemed to fall apart around them. It was born from those painful years, from watching the people she should have been able to trust the most let her down time and time again. And as much as she wished things could have been different-softer, kinder-part of her was almost grateful for those early lessons. Because without them, she wouldn't have become the person she was now. She wouldn't have learned how to stand on her own two feet, how to find strength even in the absence of support.

Kari let out a quiet sigh, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold in the memories. There was a certain irony in it all, she thought. Growing up, she had always wanted to believe that people were inherently good, that if you just loved them enough, they'd come through for you in the end. But life had shown her the other side-the messy, imperfect, often selfish side of human nature. It had shown her how quickly promises could turn to lies, how words meant to soothe could become weapons. And those lessons, as bitter as they were, had taught her the most valuable truth of all: you must ultimately rely on yourself.

It wasn't about shutting the world out or building walls so high that no one could ever get in. Kari had tried that once, and it had left her feeling empty and lonely, disconnected from everything around her. No, it was about learning how to navigate the currents of life-knowing when to trust and when to hold back, when to speak up and when to stay silent, when to walk away and when to stay and fight. It was about understanding that people would disappoint you, not because they meant to, but because they were just as flawed and broken as you were.

Kari took a slow sip of water, her gaze drifting to the phone on the counter, its screen dark and silent. Social media, she thought with a weary sigh, was like a magnifying glass on the worst parts of the world-each scroll a reminder of how cruel, thoughtless, or shallow people could be. It was a window into a world where anger and bitterness were louder than compassion, where everyone seemed to have an opinion but few seemed to have any real empathy. It could be overwhelming, the constant noise of it, the way it chipped away at your sense of hope.

She had learned to step back from it, to limit her time in that digital whirlwind. It wasn't because she didn't care about what was happening in the world-she did, deeply-but because she understood that if you let yourself be consumed by every injustice, every harsh word, you would lose yourself in the process. It was too easy to drown in the negativity, to start believing that the world was only ever as cruel as the worst thing you read that day. But there was still kindness out there, too, hidden in the quiet corners, in the small gestures, in the people who moved through life without seeking validation from a screen.

Kari knew that the quiet, authentic life was what she needed, what she wanted. A life where her peace wasn't dependent on others' approval, where she could find joy in the simple things-like rainy afternoons, like the warmth of a good cup of tea, like the soft sound of Skye's breathing as she slept. She didn't need the world's noise to feel seen. And she didn't need the chaos to remind her of who she was.

She thought back to the times when she had tried to force herself into being who others expected her to be, and the exhaustion that came with it. Now, she had learned that peace came from letting go of those expectations, from allowing herself to be imperfect and whole in her own way. It came from understanding that she couldn't control other people's actions or thoughts-only her own responses, only the way she chose to move forward.

Kari glanced at Skye again, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and sadness. She knew her sister still had a long way to go, that the scars she carried wouldn't fade overnight. But she also knew that Skye was stronger than she realized, that she had the capacity to heal, to rebuild herself from the inside out. And maybe, just maybe, Kari's own journey could help guide her along that path.

She turned back to the window, watching as the rain softened to a drizzle. The world outside still looked gray and uncertain, but she felt a sense of steadiness deep in her chest, a quiet certainty that she could handle whatever came next. Life would keep throwing its challenges her way, but she had learned to bend without breaking, to find her center even in the storm.

Kari closed her eyes, letting the sound of the rain fill her mind. She wasn't looking for a life free of pain or struggle-those things were part of the human experience, unavoidable and necessary. But she had learned that it was possible to find peace within the chaos, to hold on to herself even when the world tried to pull her apart. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

With a final glance at Skye, Kari whispered a silent promise to herself: that she would continue to be a guiding light for her sister, that she would help her find her own version of this peace. But she would also remember to protect her own, knowing that, at the end of the day, her journey-like everyone's-was hers to navigate.