My heart jumps. “Nadia…”
“Hear me out.” She angles her body toward me. “You already use grounding techniques. You’ve been practicing breathing exercises. Peanut does half the work before you even start.”
Peanut lifts her head as if she knows we are discussing her destiny.
“You think she could be a therapy cat?” My voice comes out small.
“I think she already is.” Nadia leans in. “I also think you need something that belongs to you. Something you build outside of what happened to you.”
I run my fingers along the edges of the pamphlet. It feels solid. Hopeful. Real.
Nadia continues, “And when you’re ready… I want us to start the project we talked about.”
The idea blooms in my chest like a soft exhale. The Stray Haven. Half rescue center for animals like Peanut, half safehouse for women like us. A place built on survival, not brokenness.
“You still want to do it?” I ask.
Her eyes shine. “I’ve wanted to since the day we got out of that motel.” She stares off into the distance for a moment. “Surviving wasn’t the end for us. It was the beginning.”
Peanut chirps loudly, as if giving approval.
I breathe in the warm air, thick with sawdust and distant laughter. “I want to do it too. I want… something new.” The words surprise me, not because they feel foreign but because they feel true.
Nadia squeezes my arm. “Then we will build it. Piece by piece.” She gets up from the bench and heads back inside,probably to make sure Matthew isn’t causing trouble. The boy is worse than some of the patch members when it comes to pranks.
A deep vibration rolls through the ground a moment later, signaling that Tiny’s bike is easing closer. He parks on the side, wipes his hands on a rag, and walks toward us with that focused look he only ever turns on me.
“You good?” he asks, voice low.
“I am,” I say. And this time I mean it.
Peanut stands on my lap, stretches, and places both paws on Tiny’s chest like she’s claiming him. He laughs under his breath and scratches her head.
“What’s that?” he asks when he notices the pamphlet.
“A possibility,” I answer. “Nadia brought it to me.”
Tiny looks at me, really looks, and something like pride softens the edges of his expression. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can see it.”
Peanut jumps onto the bench beside me, stretching out in a warm stripe of sunlight.
Tiny sits where Nadia had been. His knee brushes mine. “How’s today?”
“Better,” I say.
He nods slowly. “Good. You don’t have to rush.”
“I’m not rushing,” I say. “I’m moving forward.”
The sun shifts across the lot. The garage hums. Peanut curls into a perfect ball between Tiny and me. For a moment, the world feels… steady.
Not perfect. Not finished, just steady.
I lift my hand and place it over Tiny’s. His fingers curl around mine instantly, as natural as breathing.
“Are you training Peanut to be a therapy cat?” he asks with the smallest smile.
“She already thinks she is one,” I reply.