LAYLA

Three months later.

Peace.

That used to sound like a joke. Some far-off fantasy I didn’t dare believe in. But now it was real.

There were no more whispers behind my back. No icy stares in the hallway. No fake smiles hiding daggers. Just quiet. Warmth. I had peace and it was all that mattered. I stepped into my garden.

I held a small, fancy basket as I picked fresh, sweet scented white and blue flowers.

Simple. Peaceful. I even caught myself humming — like actually humming. I hadn’t ...