You almost don’t recognize her at first.

She’s laughing at a corner table in a quiet café, sunlight catching in her hair—not flashy, not frantic, just… steady. Grounded. Molly Gunn, but calmer. Softer in a way that feels earned.

“Molly?”

She looks up, surprise flashing before that familiar smile appears. “Oh my God. You.”

She stands and pulls you into a hug that feels warm, real, unhurried.

“Look at you,” you say, sitting across from her. “You seem… happy.”

She smiles, thoughtful. “I am. Not the loud kind. The kind that stays.”

Over coffee, she tells you about night classes, a job she loves, an apartment she pays for herself. No glitter explosions. No chaos. Just pride.

“I used to think starting over meant losing myself,” she admits. “Turns out, I was just meeting myself for the first time.”

You smile. “I always knew you’d get here.”

She shakes her head gently. “I didn’t. But I kept going anyway.”

As you stand to leave, she hesitates, then says softly, “Thank you. For believing in me back when I couldn’t.”