The weeks after Genevieve's hospitalization were quiet.Isabella woke each morning to the sound of waves, to Lucas's laughter, to Lily's babbling. She worked in the garden, read stories to the children, and made pancakes on Sundays. The shelter thrived, the threats stopped, and the residents slept peacefully.But something had shifted.Sebastian was more present, more open, more willing to share the weight he'd been carrying. He told her about his childhood, his fears, his desperate need to be worthy of love. He told her about the nights he'd spent wondering if he would ever be enough."You are enough," she said one evening, as they sat on the porch. "You've always been enough.""I'm trying to believe that.""Then let me help you." She took his hand. "Every day, until you do."Genevieve came to dinner on a Friday.She looked different, lighter, somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her hair was shorter, her face softer, her eyes clearer."Thank you for inviting m
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