A Time To Heal Book Novels & Stories

She had stood before him with nothing but trembling hands, placing her palm on his chest. “You’re not a monster,” she had said back then. And now, standing again in that memory, she heard herself say it. But it wasn’t her voice anymore. It was someone else’s. Wrong. Hollow. The Trial was asking: Do you remember why you said it? Tears slipped down Emma’s cheeks. “Because I saw the humanity in him,” she whispered. “Because I believe healing is more than fixing a wound. It’s reminding someone they were never broken.” The flame pulsed around her.

The only thing on Summers Hartley’s mind was revenge. Being a half-breed, she was born extremely weak and completely incapable of protecting herself or anyone, and that cost her. Her family was slaughtered, and her pack was reduced to ashes. As the Alpha heir to Silverguard pack, she swore to destroy the monsters responsible: the Bloodmoon pack. When the perfect chance for revenge arrives, she hides behind a new identity as the dying Alpha’s personal healer and enters the Bloodmoon pack. Every day she heals the pack, she has promised to destroy. Sworn to pay back the same hand, her mission is simple: poison the Alpha who murdered her people and, together with her uncle, destroy eve

The ride to the house was quiet. She held the bear to herself, and he had her hand for almost the entire drive. He didn’t want to overload her, but he knew that she needed something to help ground her as she dealt with the things swirling around in her head. He hoped that maybe she would get a few of the answers that she needed, and she would begin the hard process of healing.

At the bottom of the canyon, she could see the stream that had carved its way through the stone. Water and time, she thought. That’s what heals everything. Back home, Emma began outlining chapters for the next book. Not a novel this time. A memoir, maybe. Or something hybrid part essay, part story, part guide to living after burning. She didn’t need to rush it. The words would come when they were ready. That night, she opened her journal and wrote: “Healing does not erase the scar. It teaches you to honor it.” She stared at the sentence. Then she wrote another:

Vivienne saw the guilty look in his eyes and she took a deep breath to calm herself as she questioned, "You really didn't expect that I'd still be stuck in the past, right?" Noah didn't dare to look into her clear grey eyes as he replied, "Well, I was hoping that you'd be stronger." "Some wounds are not easily healed. They say time heals everything but I learned that time isn't that helpful. It's not time's job to heal your wounds and it's our own responsibility to heal our own wounds. But we tend to avoid picking at those wounds and consider that once they scabbed, they have just healed. Then one day, someone comes and picks at those scabs and you realize how easy it was for those old wound

Chapter 46 – Healing Hearts includes: Detailed daily-life interactions and routines Deep emotional conversations Humor interwoven with healing Growth and reconciliation for Mathapelo, Sandra, Abby, Tshepo, and Gail Foreshadowing for future challenges

Ran his fingers along the edges. “Do you want to open them now?” I asked. He looked at the stack. Then at me. “Not yet,” he said. “But I want to hold onto them. For when I’m ready.” “Then that’s enough.” We sat there long after the lights had dimmed. No timeline. No decision pressed forward. Just a quiet knowing that healing is not something you schedule. It is something you stand beside. Something you let come when the weight begins to shift. The boutique would open again in the morning. More orders would come. More choices would be made.

To love again. It was time to take a decision – either give herself time to heal or shut the door to her heart forever. Either way it was quite a dilemma.

I stay silent, letting her cry and stroke her hair. She lifts her head to look at me. “I am sorry. You shouldn’t need to deal with this.” I wipe her tears away. She closes her eyes and moves into my touch. “Gracie, how long have you been hurting yourself?” Sighing, she pulls away from me and heads over to the bed. She sits down and brings her knees to her chest, covering them with the tee. I follow her, climb onto the bed and knew before her. “About four years.” Her words are barely audible.

And now, as I sit on the beach, the sand warm beneath me, I cradle another life within me, a new chapter of our story about to begin. Xavier's hand finds mine, his touch grounding me in the present. Together, we watch the sun descend toward the horizon, casting hues of gold and orange across the sky. The waves dance to a timeless rhythm, a reminder that life moves forward, and that healing is possible even after the deepest of wounds.