Healing My Heart Book Novels & Stories

“I get that but you have to let me do my job. I have your best interest at heart.” “You do?” He smiled and that look was back. “I thought you were trying to leave me paralysed or something.” I scoffed and picked up my board. “How do you feel this morning?” “My spine hurts.” I dropped the board and edged closer to him. I dropped one hand on his shoulder and with the other, I traced his spine. “Yes.” He groaned. “Right there.” I froze for half a second. Heat rose to my cheeks and I licked my lips nervously. He craned his neck to look at me.

“I didn’t expect to see you again.” The woman nodded.” This place is my second home…you know it’s so peaceful here” she replied, her smile still in tact. “Oh” Camellia murmured. And the Woman continued. “ You know Sometimes the things that chase us are not out there…” she tapped lightly over Camellia’s heart, “…but in here. Healing begins when you stop running from it.” Camellia’s throat tightened. She shut the book gently, forcing a small nod. “Thank you.”

I stood in the hallway, hand over my stomach, watching them. The baby kicked again. And for the first time in days, I let myself smile. Because healing wasn’t loud or fast. It was quiet. Slow. Like a broken heart learning how to beat again. And this? This was the sound of love choosing to stay.

The moment I told her how I had been slowly falling for him, how every day with him made me feel something I didn’t expect, safety… warmth… peace, she didn’t laugh or judge me. Instead, she stared at me with those sharp, kind eyes of hers and said, “Miriam, you have to allow yourself to heal. Not everyone will break you like your parents did. Not everyone will use you like William did. Sometimes people really care.” And I was stunned, because she was right. I was scared. Terrified even, the idea of handing someone my heart felt like placing it in the center of a battlefield with no shield to protect it. But at the same time… Lazar was different.

the Sharma asked even though he has asked this question a hundred times before. “ I see a woman in my sleep. she keeps waking me up everytime I fall asleep, red hair like the roses , beautiful green eyes like the forest trees in spring. procelein skin so clean and pure . somehow she disturbs my sleep and I cannot help but hate her for it. ” “ so a woman is the cause of the great Emperor's sleeplessness. ? ” the Sharma laughed teasingly. “your cure is not in my shattering old house, it's in your palace . someone there can cure you. go home Emperor. ”

I whisper, resting my head on his chest, realising that the strength I found in being alone is nothing compared to the power of having someone who truly cares. “I love you more, baby. The brave you, the sassy you, the vulnerable you, the entire you. I love every facet of Mrs. Grace Grey.” As he holds me close and kisses my head, the echoes of my nightmares begin to fade, replaced by the reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. Now I understand healing takes time. Just when you think you’ve healed completely, something happens which triggers past trauma and bomb! You’re back to where you began. Healing isn’t an instant process, but a journey, and I’m not walking it alone anymore. Now, my husband,

I told him as I took the empty medicine box, and threw it at him with force and anger. "One day the body asked the heart: when I am hurt, the doctor heals me, but if you are hurt, who will heal you? The heart answered: I have to heal myself." He tells me reciting what I said a few days ago. I was immediately shocked when I heard this from his mouth.

Blood rushed to my cheeks, heating up my face. “T-that’s not possible.” I said, blinking rapidly. “Why not?” “Because uh…it won’t heal your wounds.” I retorted. “But it would heal my heart.” he said and I was speechless. He pulled me closer to him and I gasped as I fell on his broad chest. I could hear his heartbeat under my palm. It was breathing rapidly. I craned my neck to look up at him. He stared down at me and his hand traced my jawline, “Nobody has ever really cared to tend to my wounds, if they were not getting something in return. But you changed it.”

Living with him made my tummy puff a little since he was one of the great chefs in New York. I slowly pushed my cart towards it when someone bumps his cart at my back. I got angrier. Who was the careless person to hit me on my butt? I furiously looked back and about to shout at him because of his recklessness when I realized that this man looks familiar. He froze also to see me. Our eyes met and I can't hide the fact that I still feel the same even many years had passed. I should be slapped him and choke him to die but why couldn't do it now? I could hear the loud sounds of my heartbeat through my ears. I was blinded by my deepest love for him. He destroyed and left me broken.

They had taken enough — my peace, my appetite, my sleep, my trust. They were not taking this quiet, unexpected, undeserved moment of feeling like a person again. I picked up my cocktail. “You were saying?” I said to Daniel, and my voice didn’t shake at all. Because healing, I was beginning to understand, didn’t always arrive as a grand revelation. Sometimes it looked like this: a window seat, a good meal, a stranger’s easy company, and the quiet, radical decision to keep your eyes facing forward.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​