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Trauma Whisperer

Hypothetical Question: If you had to spend an entire week in a room with only three things, what would they be?

Two months later…

Carina

"Thank you," Natalia says, her voice bright with something fragile but hopeful as she heads toward the door.

The other women murmur their thanks—quieter, more subdued, but no less heartfelt—as they shuffle out after her.

I watch them go, exhaling slowly. The room settles into silence, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The scent of lavender lingers in the air, clinging to the chairs' fabric, to my skin.

I should get up and start cleaning, but instead, I sink into one of the empty chairs, letting the weight of the session settle over me.

It's always like this: a strange mix of satisfaction and exhaustion, of fulfilment and something more complicated—like I'm stitching pieces of myself back together but never quite finishing the job.

I trace a finger over the paintings we created today. Art therapy has been a huge success with the women here. I wasn’t sure about it to start with, I hadn’t held a paintbrush in years. But as soon as I did, the cathartic release was almost euphoric. And the other women love it too. It gives them a moment of peace, a time to switch off their brain from whatever worries they might have.

I started working for Nate not long after I visited the support group for the first time, where it showed me that there’s more to my life than just vengeance. Of course, I don’t share all the ways I healed myself to the women. I leave out the blood and violence, instead focusing on the rest of my journey. In particular, I spend a lot of time talking about support systems. Nate, obviously, is my greatest supporter. But Kai and Enzo? They help heal me too.

Footsteps sound. Then a soft knock on the open door.

“Hey,” Nate’s voice cuts through the silence, soft and warm. I look up to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a proud smile playing on his lips.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask, shaking off the remnants of my thoughts.

"Long enough to see you work your wizardry." He steps into the room, the warmth in his voice wrapping around me. "Seriously, you're like a trauma whisperer. They adore you."

I snort, shaking my head as I gather the loose papers from the table. "They don't need to adore me. They just need to believe that there's a way forward."

Nate doesn't answer right away. Instead, he watches me, his gaze lingering too long like he's searching for something I'm not ready to give him.

"Well, that and lavender diffusers," he says finally, breaking the tension with an easy grin. "Pretty sure you've started a cult of essential oils."

A laugh escapes me, short but real.

I've come a long way. But the past is still a shadow I carry. Some days, it's lighter. Others, it feels like a boulder strapped to my chest.

“They’re strong,” I say softly, more to myself than to him. “Stronger than they know. They just… need time to see it.”

“And you’re helping them see it.” Nate moves closer, his fingers brushing against mine as he takes the folder from me. “Come on. You’ve done enough for today. Let’s get out of here.”

I hesitate, glancing back at the room—it’s become a sanctuary for so many. For me, too.

“Carina,” Nate says, his voice pulling me back. “You’ve earned a break.”

I exhale, nodding. “Okay. Just let me grab my things.”

As we step outside, the evening air cools the heat in my chest. Nate slides his hand into mine, his thumb tracing slow, comforting circles against my skin.

"You've really built something here," he murmurs, tilting his head toward the building. Haven. A place of safety, of second chances. The kind of place I once needed more than air.

I shake my head. "We built something."

He stops walking. Turns to face me fully, green eyes locking onto mine.

"You give me too much credit, Princess. This—what you're doing—it's all you. And it's incredible."

The words hit deeper than they should. I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I don't look away.

"It's not just for them," I admit quietly. "It's for me too. Every time I see one of them smile, even just a little… it feels like I'm reclaiming a piece of myself."

"And you are."

We fall into silence, but it's a different kind of quiet now. Heavier. Charged with something unspoken.

I swallow, suddenly unsteady. "You know, I never thought I'd find peace after…everything. But this—helping them—it's the closest I've come."

Nate squeezes my hand, his grip firm, grounding. "You deserve peace, Carina. And whatever it takes to get you there, I'll make sure you have it."

Something inside me wavers and cracks just a little.

I glance up at him, a small, aching smile tugging at my lips.

"You already have."