Page 19 of Of Heather and Thistle

Her hand fumbled blindly across the nightstand, knocking over an empty water glass before finally finding her phone.

The screen glowed too bright, making her squint as she silenced the alarm.

A grumpy chirp came from the foot of the bed: Byrdie was curled up in a loaf, her green eyes slitted with disapproval and her tail flicking in irritated protest.

Heather let out a breathless, tired laugh. “Sorry, girly,” she croaked with a scratchy voice as she rubbed her eyes. “Believe me, I’m tired too.”

But she wasn’t just physically exhausted. She was emotionally drained. No Ivy. No Mark. No Evergreen Books. No familiar streets, no quiet café mornings, no steady routine to ground her, no comfort in the familiar.

She’d spent the last few weeks cutting ties, but now that it was time to walk away completely, she felt the ache of it in a way she hadn’t prepared for. The weight of leaving pressed against her chest, feeling heavier than she had expected.

She sat up slowly, dragged herself to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on her face. She was really doing this!

Her suitcase waited by the door, neatly packed. Byrdie sat beside it in her carrier, blinking with sleepy disinterest. Heather knelt beside the carrier, rubbing her fingers over the mesh lining. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure,” she murmured. “Because there’s no turning back now.”

Byrdie let out a soft meow, blinking at her. Heather swallowed. No turning back. Then why did it still feel like part of her was still looking over her shoulder?

Once her greatest comfort, the apartment now felt like something she was shedding: not a home anymore—just a space she’d passed through.

She exhaled and reached for her coat.

It was time.

“…I think that covers it, don’t you, Byrdie-girl?” The cat let out a soft meow as if to agree, and Heather smiled.

Byrdie yawned lazily in response, and Heather couldn’t help but huff. “You’re going to be the most well-traveled cat in the neighborhood,” she said with a soft laugh.

She didn’t know if she was running toward something or just away from everything—but either way, she was finally moving.

The morning air was cold and unforgiving as she and Byrdie stepped outside, with the mist clinging to the pavement and the streetlights glaring in the pre-dawn quiet.

Their taxi idled at the curb with its headlights cutting through the early morning haze.

Heather took one last look at the small apartment building she’d called home for years.

It wasn’t perfect; it never had been. But it had been hers.

She inhaled deeply and then swallowed the lump in her throat as she and Byrdie slid into the backseat.

As the taxi pulled away, she watched the familiar streets blur past, disappearing into the dark.

* * *

The airport was already alive with movement despite the early hour.

Heather felt like she was moving on autopilot, as if her body was going through the motions even as her mind swam with the thought of everything she was leaving behind—check-in, security, navigating through the crowds.

But a wave of quiet luxury washed over her when she stepped into the first-class lounge—soothing but unfamiliar.

She’d never flown like this before.

Everything about it felt like it belonged to someone else: someone polished; someone who knew exactly where they were going. And yet… Heather was here. She settled into a chair, with a glass of water in hand and her suitcase tucked beside her.

Her jeans and sweater suddenly felt all wrong—like they still belonged to the girl she was leaving behind. Digging through her suitcase, her fingers brushed over the white linen two-piece set she’d bought days earlier.

The fabric was soft and weightless in her hands: a clean slate.

She stepped into the lounge’s private restroom to change, and then she barely recognized herself.

The linen fabric skirted her edges and softened her silhouette while the top draped over her in a way that felt effortless and unburdened.

Heather stared at her reflection, adjusting the neckline and smoothing her hands over her hips.

She looked… New . Like someone lighter, freer.

Like someone who wasn’t just carrying ghosts on her back.

he saw the version of herself she wanted to be—the girl who had waited, not the girl who had settled.

Not the girl who had swallowed her hurt for the sake of peace.

Someone else.

Someone… more.

“It’s just you and me now,” she murmured, pressing her palm gently against the mesh front of the carrier. Byrdie sniffed at her fingers, then rubbed her cheek against them, her soft purr vibrating through the fabric.

Heather exhaled, a little of the tension in her chest easing. “We’re going to be okay, right?”

Byrdie purred again, and something tight in Heather’s chest loosened. Maybe the healing sound of Byrdie’s contentment was all the reassurance she needed. By the time the boarding call echoed through the terminal, Heather’s nerves had settled into a quiet acceptance.

She adjusted Byrdie’s carrier, stepping onto the jet bridge. Her seat on the plane was spacious and semi-private which was a comfort she’d never known before.

She placed Byrdie’s carrier under the seat, settled in, and ran her fingers over the plush leather armrest. Not long after she boarded, a flight attendant offered her champagne.

She hesitated with the weight of the past twenty-four hours pressing down on her.

But then she gave a smile of gratitude to the flight attendant as she accepted the fluted glass.

Her gaze drifted to the window and the sleepy city lights blurring beneath the clouds… but then the doubt slithered in again :

…What if I hate it there?…

…What if I don’t belong?…

…What if I come back even more lost than before?…

She lifted the champagne glass to her lips again, her decision solidifying for her as the plane left the ground.

She wasn’t turning back.

Not this time.