Page 93 of When We Are Complete

Her expression shifts, pride mingling with empathy. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know how hard that must have been. And I want you to know, I’m so proud of you for being here, for telling the truth, for letting me see this part of what you’re going through.”

A small tremor shakes through me, but I hold her gaze this time. Her words ease the ache I’ve been holding in my chest ever since I decided I wanted to get help. Real help.

Her tone becomes thoughtful. “It sounds as though you’re carrying a lot. What if we work together on some tools to help you manage these thoughts? And I want us to meet again next week, to spend some more time with this. How does that sound?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thank you, Dr. Bennett.”

She invites me to tell her more about what’s been going on, and the floodgates open. I tell her everything. How much I’ve been holding in since Mom died. How I came back here to Harbor’s Edge, determined to make her proud. How the grief inside me kept getting bigger, with no place to go. How I channeled it into the festival planning, the need to get everything perfect.

I tell her about Jake, everything we went through all those years ago, what happened the night of the storm—at least, the PG version—and how the festival installations were damaged.

Soon we’re going through some of the strategies I can use for my anxiety and OCD. “And remember, there’s no need for perfection here. Just progress. We’ll go one step at a time.”

When we end the call, quiet fills my room. I sit back, pulling the laptop shut with a sense of pride for opening up to my therapist, for peeling back some of those layers I’ve held in place for so long.

A message comes through on my phone: “Hey beautiful. I’m running a little late, but head to my place. Adele is there with Tiger.”

We’re having a movie night tonight, and I grab my bag, then tug my scarf a little tighter around my neck and zip up my thick winter coat, bracing myself as I step out into the cold. It’s a nice clear night and I decide to walk.

The crunch beneath my boots is rhythmic, almost soothing, as I make my way to Jake’s. It’s nice to do something cozy and normal tonight after how hard we’ve been working with the Valiant Hearts cleaning up after the storm, and trying to get everything in place so the festival can still take place.

The festival.The version I’d once envisioned is so different compared to what it’s shaping up to be now. The decorations, the booths, the events—they’re all pared back, nothing like the grand plans I’d hoped for.

And that familiar pang of guilt rises up, a whisper reminding me of every detail that’s fallen short, every one of my mom’s high expectations I couldn’t meet. But something is different, now. I remind myself that even if it’s not perfect, even if there are gaps and rough edges, the festival is still happening. We didn’t give up.Ididn’t give up.

The thought steadies me as I take in the snowy street ahead, the frost darkening under the dusk light. Maybe Mom would be proud, not because I achieved perfection, but because I pushed through, because I stayed committed when everything felt impossible.

I’m learning to make peace with my own limits, to accept that being a work in progress doesn’t mean I’m a failure. Tonight, that’s enough.

When I finally reach Jake’s house, the porch light spills over the snow, guiding me in. I stomp a couple of times to get the worst of the ice off my boots and knock—Adele greets me with a grin, while Tiger rubs against my legs as I step inside.

“Hey, Kelly.” There’s a calmness to her that reminds me of Jake, a steadiness that seems beyond her years. It’s hard to believe how much she’s been through lately, but her resilience is right there, glowing quietly beneath the surface.

“Hey, Adele.” I shrug off my coat and hang it by the door. “Your dad is running late with the Valiant Hearts, but he said to come over and hang out while we wait.”

We walk into the living room and she sets her phone aside as we chat about our days. I settle down on the sofa while she reaches for the stack of take out menus, and I find myself studying her. Adele’s still so young, with this whole beautiful life stretching ahead of her—bright, untouched, and brimming with possibilities.

In that moment, a deep, quiet promise forms inside me. If I’m going to be a part of her life, I want to be strong and healthy,a version of myself that I’m proud of—someone who’s taken the time to heal, to be the best kind of example I can be.

“Hey, how’s everything been with school?” I ask gently.

She sighs, her gaze dropping. “It’s getting better, I guess. The school’s trying, and some kids have backed off since they started cracking down on the online stuff. But it still happens, you know? There’s always someone whispering something, even if it’s not online.” She shrugs, trying to play it off, but the slight pinch in her expression tells me it bothers her.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be,” I say. “It’s cruel, really. You don’t deserve that.”

Adele nods, pressing her lips together. “Thanks. I mean, it’s school, right? This kind of thing happens all the time. But I finally deleted all the social media apps from my phone. Figured I didn’t need to give people so much access to me. I’ll keep in touch with my real friends, but the rest, well, they can think what they want.”

She shrugs in a way that’s so much like Jake that I can’t help but laugh. “Good for you. Honestly, that’s a huge step.”

She laughs too, the sound light and unburdened, and it makes my heart swell to know she’s finding a way to stand tall, despite it all.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “It’s freeing, I guess. Like, if they can’t say it to my face, maybe it doesn’t matter as much.”

Her strength is inspiring, and I reach over, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re amazing. I mean it. And just so you know, I’m here, if you ever want to talk. About anything.”

Her eyes are soft. “Thanks. I’m glad that you’re around.”

A sense of peace hits me at her words—a gentle, quiet realization that I have a place here.

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