Unwritten Steps

Chapter 15: A Question of Paths

Aurora woke up later than usual, the sunlight streaming through her thin curtains and warming the edges of her bed. She blinked at the ceiling, the familiar weight of the day settling on her chest before her thoughts even had a chance to form. The showcase results. The thought should have excited her, but instead, it brought a sharp pang of doubt. She closed her eyes, whispering into the silence, "God, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Please show me the way."

Her apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. It wasn't the comforting kind of quiet—it was the kind that left too much room for her thoughts to spiral. She sat up, rubbing her temples, and glanced at her journal on the nightstand. It was open to a half-filled page, the ink smudged in places where her tears had fallen during one of her late-night scribbling sessions.

Aurora picked it up and ran her fingers over the worn leather cover, then flipped to a blank page. She clicked her pen and let the words flow, unfiltered and messy:

I should be happy about the showcase, but I'm not. Why does everything feel like a performance? Like I have to prove I'm worth something to everyone else. Maybe it's because of Wanda. Maybe it's because I've spent my whole life trying to be good enough for someone who never cared.

Her pen paused as her chest tightened. She took a shaky breath and kept writing.

Wanda used to tell me I was a burden, that she didn't know why she bothered taking me in. She was right in some ways. I never felt like I belonged there. I wasn't her kid. I wasn't anybody's kid. And every time she criticized me, every time she reminded me I wasn't enough, I believed her a little more. Even now, I can still hear her voice in my head, telling me that dancing won't pay the bills, that I'm wasting my time.

Aurora set the pen down and stared at the words, her hand trembling. She hated that Wanda still had that

much power over her, even now. The foster home had been a place of survival, not love. Wanda's sharp words and the constant feeling of being unwanted had shaped her, carving deep scars that still throbbed whenever she tried to do something for herself. 

She wiped a tear that slid down her cheek and looked up toward the ceiling. "God, I need you to help me," she whispered. Her voice cracked, but she kept going. "I don't know how to stop hearing her voice. I don't know how to feel... okay. Please, just give me something—some direction."

The words felt strange at first, as they always did when she prayed, but she leaned into the discomfort. She wasn't sure if she believed God was listening, but something about speaking aloud made her feel less alone. She closed her journal, placed her hand over the leather cover, and took a deep breath. "One step at a time," she murmured. "Just keep going."

Later that morning, she wandered into the kitchen and made herself coffee. As she stared at the travel brochure pinned to her corkboard, her thoughts began to shift. The picture of an endless beach and clear blue skies looked like a portal to a life she'd always dreamed about. For years, she'd imagined standing on cliffs overlooking oceans she'd never seen, swimming in warm water, and finding a place where she could just breathe. A place far away from the echoes of her past, where no one could tell her who she was supposed to be.

Aurora grabbed the journal again and scribbled:

I don't want to spend my life proving people wrong. I don't want to spend it trying to silence Wanda's voice in my head. I just want peace. I want to be somewhere I don't have to fight to feel okay. I want to be around people who see me for who I am, not who they think I should be.

Her mind drifted to

the dreams she'd carried for so long but never spoken out loud. I want to wake up to the sound of the ocean. I want to swim, hike, and feel the sun on my face. I want a community—a family. People who understand me, who look like me, where I don't have to explain myself or meet anyone's expectations. I just want to be happy. Truly happy.

The pen hovered over the page, and her hand trembled as she wrote the final sentence: I want to make a difference, too. I don't know how yet, but I want to do something that matters.

Aurora closed the journal and set it aside, her chest feeling lighter but no less conflicted. She moved to her couch, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her thoughts swirled, a mix of hope and doubt. She had spent so much of her life trying to survive, to meet the impossible standards of people who never cared about her. But what if there was another way? What if she could stop running from her past and start running toward something?

That evening, Aurora went thrifting again. The small shop smelled faintly of old wood and fabric softener, and the rows of mismatched clothing felt like a treasure hunt. She ran her fingers along the racks, her thoughts drifting to the showcase. Could she really walk away from it? After all the work she'd put in, after finally proving to herself—and to Wanda—that she could make it, was she willing to let it go?

She found a simple sundress tucked behind a row of jackets and pulled it out. The fabric was soft, the kind of dress you'd wear walking along a beach or exploring a quiet village. It reminded her of the life she wanted—the life she was beginning to think she might deserve.

Aurora bought the dress and walked home with it slung over her arm. She hung it on the back of her closet door and sat down with her journal again, flipping back to the page she'd written earlier.

"God," she whispered, "if I'm supposed to take this path, if I'm supposed to walk away from all of this, please show me. Please help me let go of what's not for me."

For the first time in weeks, Aurora felt a glimmer of clarity. It wasn't a decision yet, but it was something. A tiny thread of hope she could follow.

She curled up on her bed that night, the sundress swaying slightly on the closet door, and whispered one last prayer before falling asleep: "Help me find my way."