Chapter 4- Fifteen Years Later

The lavender walls of Room 3 were freshly painted, but you could still smell the Sharpie graffiti under the surface.

Minnie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching two of her teens argue over a basketball game that had somehow become a screaming match about whose mom made better mac and cheese.

“Enough,” she said, not raising her voice. Her tone had that quiet power—like the calm before a storm. The boys froze.

“You’ve got two options. Shake hands and hit the gym… or clean bathrooms for a week.”

They shook hands so fast she had to bite back a grin.

The day was almost done, and the group home was finally settling down. Minnie tucked her purple hair into a loose bun and tugged down her hoodie. She was still curvy—and still fabulous. Tattoos danced along her forearms in soft black lines, a constellation of pain and power, growth and grit. Her silver nose ring shimmered under the flickering hallway lights.

“Boss lady,” called out Dez, one of the newer staff, “you heading out?”

“Meeting prep,” she nodded, holding up her tablet. “Big one this week. Potential donor. Wants to fund new programs—fitness therapy, sports mentorship, all that good stuff.”

Dez whistled. “That’d be huge.”

“Yup. So don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Home was a cozy, chaotic little house she shared with Kevin—her best friend, partner in crime, and permanent plus-one. Theirs was a lavender relationship: one bed each, but always someone to split rent with, cook for, and binge true crime documentaries next to.

Kevin, still rocking his signature apron and sarcastic charm, was plating seared salmon in the kitchen when she walked in.

“Saved you a plate,” he said. “Figured you’d need fuel to charm millionaires.”

“God, I love you,” she sighed, collapsing into a chair.

“Careful,” he winked. “You’ll give the neighbors ideas.”

Kevin was a chef now at an upscale uptown spot. The tattoos on his arms were just as bold as hers. They made a good pair: her shy but sharp, him loud but loyal.

They used to joke that if no one had married them by 40, they’d just tie the knot and spend their lives being fabulous together. But at 35, they were still single and still not settling. They dated here and there—mostly flings, never flames.

She’d had relationships. Some sweet. Some forgettable. And one… one she wished she could erase. The guy from college graduation. Her first. Her worst. Took everything—trust, dignity—and left her with scars that only time and therapy could soften.

But now? She was good. Better than good. She was climbing. Healing. Building a life.

Later that night, Minnie sat curled up in her room, tablet glowing in her lap. Notes for the meeting filled the screen. She knew this donor was big money, and if she nailed it, she’d finally move up to program manager. More pay, more say, more impact.

She could already hear her dad saying something backhanded like, “About time you started doing real work.”

They still had Sunday dinners, but the relationship was always… complicated. Ever since her mom died, he’d been distant—colder. And her stepmother? Still made snide remarks about Minnie’s weight every chance she got. As if her own Botoxed reflection wasn’t terrifying enough.

Her sister, meanwhile, had gone full suburban P*******t mom—married with two kids and a habit of teasing Minnie for being 35 and “still single.” Like being single was some sort of expiration date.

Minnie just smiled through it. She didn’t need a husband. She had her work. Her peace. Her purpose.

Still… sometimes, in the quiet, she wondered what it might’ve been like to be truly seen. To be loved well.

Not watched. Not used.

Not broadcast over a party speaker.

She shook off the thought, focusing back on her notes.

Tomorrow was a big day.

And Minnie had come too far to let ghosts steal it from