Paint Me Saved ✓ Book 1

40. The redemptive route

Zemira

Moving on wasn't just difficult, it was next to impossible. As easy as those words might sound, the process was herculean. Most times during my therapy, that word had an exposing effect on me. After all, I was supposed to move away from the comfort of the familiar to embrace the cold, unknown future.

Moving on also required reinforcements, lots of it.

Thankfully, I had Kiera to ensure I didn't rekindle my alcoholic love affair. Then there was Dad, helping me learn how to walk the track of life after my fall. Oddly, he monitored my food intake as well. Observing him, I concluded a major chunk of his worry revolved around what food I consumed and how much sleep I got.

Being locked up in an institution for two whole months gave me some perspective on what went wrong with my life.

I let the love for a man choke my survival instincts. My assumption that I needed to be saved, harmed me further. Despair did the rest, siphoning hope and happiness.

Through months of intensive therapy and hearing Dad's version of honoring Mom's wishes, I found my source of peace. Sometimes letting go was the best option one could choose. Knowing that my love wouldn't meet its reciprocation, I swallowed the truth like a bitter pill.

In loving Leo, all I did was fall, hard and fast, breaking my bones and crushing my soul. Having now navigated the ocean of sorrows, I came to realize that some love stories may never be inscribed with a happy ending tag. It would only carry a comma, a brief pause stretching for all eternity while love withered away.

That was my story with Leo - held by a pause, awaiting the never-arriving completion.

These past few days had been a centrifuge of all that. It also led to a newer realization - there was never a better time than now for me to change and refurbish my life.

~

I walked into Dad's peace and privacy sanctum – his study. The war room - as he used to call the place - was used on rare occasions, for discussing trade secrets or coming up with new plans for business expansion.

Unless a matter of life or death, I refrained from encroaching into that area.

"Dad, I need a favor." Ironically, the first step towards independent living started with seeking help.

My eyes rolled inwards at my privileged upbringing but Dad smiled, bobbing his head. "I don't understand why you'd have to ask for permission, kiddo. You can just call up the office and tell them how much you'd like to withdraw."

How was it that in the past I had shamefully asked him for money but upon trying to make an honest living, I was crushed beneath rubbles of pride? Even my confidence wavered in asking for what felt right.

Dad walked across his desk and tipped my face. "Is something wrong?"

His voice was heavy, laden with concern that made me realize yet another mistake of mine.

All through my life, I tried for an easy way to live. Even to secure the failing future of our hotel business, I sought a stranger's help. In the aftermath of everything that occurred, I was glad that my plans crumbled into dust.

Sometimes things required turning into ashes for one to rebuild foundations again.

"Nothing's wrong, Dad," I answered his initial question. His wrinkled face relaxed. "I wanted to ask for your permission. Can I interview for a vacancy at our company? For the NGO coordinator position that helps destitute women."

Dad scanned the place behind me but knowing him, he was replaying what I said and evaluating if I was being serious. His mouth remained ajar for long; longer was his unblinking expression.