Naomi's POV

The first time I held a gratitude journal, it was a gift from my best friend. I was nineteen, heartbroken after a betrayal that would shape the rest of my life, and barely surviving under my aunt's roof.

It had a soft yellow cover and the words "Everyday Joy" etched in gold.

I hadn’t written in one since.

Not because I stopped believing in gratitude but because life hadn’t always made room for stillness.

Now, sitting by the window in our bedroom, a new journal on my lap, I ...