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“Let's begin.”

Confused, I look around the dimly lit room. One large ficus tree sits in the corner. Three out of the four walls that surround me are brick, with the fourth wall being a window overlooking the bay. I sit cross-legged on my mat, the thin material giving little cushion between me and the cool hardwood beneath me.

Mira, my yoga instructor, brings her hands together at her heart. She hasn’t asked any questions about why I’m the only person here or why I’m here midday when I usually attend the first morning class.

Every class follows the same physical steps. Breath awareness, warm up, a series of postures, and a final resting pose, or savasana at the end, typically accompanied by some powerful words of affirmation or poetry. However, every class leaves me with a different mental clarity. Some sessions are better than others. Today as I round my back down to my mat to take my final resting pose, I have found zero comfort.

I cannot connect my mind to my body when my mind is racing elsewhere.

Mira’s soft voice floats above me, “In your mind, repeat after me. I am enough.”

I fucked up.

“I am a powerful creator.”

I quit my job.

“Where I am right now is perfect.”

I got drunk and married a stranger.

“I am worthy of love and belonging.”

What have I done?

As I roll over, push myself up to a sitting pose, and bow, Mira looks at me, concern etched in every crevice of her wise face. Likely she can tell her affirmations were completely lost on me today. Since I don't want to talk about it I begin rolling up my mat. “Where is everyone today?”

“Midday can be a strange time. Some days many arrive, others only one.”

I nod my head and move to gather the rest of my things.

“A different time for you to be here today, friend.” It’s not a question but I’m not oblivious to the curiosity in her voice.

I offer her a tight-lipped smile as I force my mat into my bag. “I have somewhere I need to be in fifteen minutes. I thought stopping here first would help me.”

“And did it?”

I don't know if I would recognize help if it smacked me in the face right now. But it's not Mira’s fault. And I can’t stand to think that I would upset her, so I muster up a forced smile and bow my head. “Yes. Thank you.” I turn on my heel and head towards the door.

“Camila.” Her voice is still soft but commanding.

I pause before looking over my shoulder at her.

“Trust yourself to make the best decisions for you.”

I don't allow myself to think the negative thought that wants to dance across the forefront of my mind when I know she's likelytelling me this because she can sense everything I’ve been feeling.

The salty airbrushes across my face, tangling my hair behind my head. The smells at the Wharf all start to blend together. From chocolates and fresh pizza to the Pacific Ocean splashing up beneath me.

Tourists move about all around me but my gaze stays focused looking out across the bay towards Alcatraz. I can clearly remember a family trip we took out here when I was a senior in high school. My dad ordered tickets for all of us to do the Alcatraz tour, but he accidentally ordered tickets for the night tour instead of the day one. My mom was too scared to go, so my dad had to bring us by himself. Taylor had come with us on that trip and we spent the two days after the creepy excursion tormenting my younger brother, Sebastian. It was on that trip that we decided we would apply to college here. My parents weren’t happy with that decision, I’m sure they assumed it wouldn’t pan out the way I had planned. I’ll never forget their faces when I told them I was moving.

Originally, my only plan was to go to school, get a degree, get a successful job, and make everything that my parents went through for their children worth it. I’ve only ever wanted to live a life that would make them proud. And ever since I moved out here nine years ago, I’ve followed through on all those plans.

And yet somehow here I am. Staring out at the same bay that once held my dreams, but now with the dreadful feeling that maybe they were right. My options at this point are limited. I can’t go back to that job, to a man who tore me down at every opportunity. I might be so lost that I don’t know my own needs and or even my own desires right now, but I know enough to know that I will never go back to that job. That leaves almost an even more unbearable option. Going home.

I try to think of the disappointment on my parents’ faces, when I tell them I quit my job, and have no idea what I’m doing, but my stomach bottoms out at the mere thought. I have meager savings that will only hold me over for a short time so unless I figure something out now, those fears are going to become my reality very soon.

I never would've thought that sitting on a bench waiting for the man I accidentally married would pale in comparison to another problem in my life, but here I am. When I got a text from an unknown number this morning that simply said, “Meet me at the Wharf at 5. -MC” I physically shook my head at how I hadn’t even been thinking about that problem. I guess on the drive home I had a lot of time to think. And one thought that continued to circle was how calm Miles was. How—relatively—calm he kept me. So when he said he would take care of it, I trusted that.