Omniscient POV

The days following Serafina's first experience with her menstrual cycle were quiet, yet filled with a sense of uncertainty and healing. Her cramps had subsided with the help of the heating pad and the medication her mother had given her, but there was still a lingering discomfort within her—one that wasn't physical. The revelation of her vulnerability had left her feeling exposed, though her family had done their best to make her feel safe.

But even in their loving embrace, the walls she had built so carefully around herself seemed to be crumbling little by little.

In the days that followed, Isabella made it a point to spend extra time with her daughter. Together, they baked cookies, worked on small crafts, and even picked out new clothes for Serafina to wear. It wasn't about the activities themselves but about reclaiming the comfort of normality.

The family had always been protective of Serafina, but now, more than ever, they felt the need to shield her from the world outside their home, especially after hearing what had happened to her during those terrible years. And yet, even as they offered comfort, there was a subtle shift in Serafina. She had always been the quiet, calm presence in the family, but now there were moments when she grew distant, retreating to her room or staring out the window with a faraway look in her eyes.

It was in one of those moments that Enzo found her, sitting in the sunroom by herself, her gaze fixed on the garden outside. She didn't notice him at first, her thoughts clearly somewhere else, her expression unreadable.

"Fina," Enzo said softly, stepping into the room.

She blinked, turning to him with a start. "Oh. Hey, Enzo."

He took a few steps toward her, noting the way her posture seemed slightly hunched, as if she were carrying some invisible weight. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

Serafina shrugged, her lips curving in a faint, uncertain smile. "Yeah, just thinking about stuff."

Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Stuff? Like what?"

She hesitated, the words not quite ready to leave her mouth. She had been struggling to make sense of her feelings lately—like everything was too much, but not enough at the same time. She wanted to talk, but part of her feared that if she did, she'd lose control of the emotions she'd been hiding for so long.

"I don't know," she said after a long pause. "Just... everything. How do you go back to normal after something like that?"

Enzo took a seat beside her, leaning back in the chair. He didn't answer right away, choosing instead to think carefully before responding. "I don't think you do. Not really. I mean, you can't just snap your fingers and make everything go away, right? But you don't have to go through it alone, Fina. We're all here."

She sighed, a long, tired sound that seemed to carry all the weight of the past few months. "I know. But it doesn't feel the same, Enzo. I feel like a different person, and I don't even know who I am anymore."

Enzo frowned, his gaze softening. He had always been the jokester of the family, the one who could diffuse any situation with a quick laugh, but now he found himself unsure of what to say. He'd never seen Serafina this way.

"You're still you, Fina," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I know it might feel like you're not, but you are. You're strong as hell, and we all see that. It's just... it's gonna take time. You can't expect to heal overnight."

Serafina closed her eyes for a moment, as if savoring the simplicity of his words. But then the heaviness returned, that old, familiar ache in her chest. She felt as if her heart were too full of conflicting emotions, too fragile to carry. She wanted to feel the warmth of the love around her, but there was a part of her that didn't know how to accept it fully.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Enzo reached over and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not falling apart, Fina. You're rebuilding. You're stronger than you know."

The words felt almost too comforting, too easy to believe. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to feel that strength within herself, but it was buried beneath the layers of pain and uncertainty. Still, she nodded, grateful for the small, quiet moments like this—moments where she could pretend that things were still okay.

"I don't want to be a burden," she murmured. "I don't want to make everything harder for everyone else."

Enzo's gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, his tone filled with sincerity. "You're never a burden to us, Fina. You're family. And we protect each other. Don't ever forget that."

Her eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the sincerity and love reflected there—the same love that had been there all her life.

"I won't forget," she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

But even as she said the words, she knew it would take time to truly accept them. Time to trust that the walls she had built for protection could come down.

Later that afternoon, after Enzo left to join the others, Serafina found herself standing in front of her bedroom mirror, tracing the faint scars on her arms. She hadn't told anyone about them—not yet. The marks from the past, from the dark moments of self-harm, were still visible, though they had faded over time. She had never meant for them to stay, but a part of her didn't want to forget.

"Don't be weak," she whispered to her reflection, the voice that had once urged her to harm herself still echoing in her mind. "You can't fall apart again."

But now, the voice that followed was different. It was Enzo's voice. It was Isabella's. It was the quiet, steady voice of the family who had never stopped loving her, even when she couldn't love herself.

"Maybe you can," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "But maybe it's okay."

She straightened, taking a deep breath as she wiped away the stray tear that had fallen from her cheek. The healing process was never going to be easy, but with every small step forward, she felt a little lighter. And perhaps, for the first time in a long time, she felt like it was okay to not have everything figured out.

Maybe, just maybe, she could rebuild her walls—not as a defense mechanism, but as a shelter where her heart could heal.