HARPER SAT on the plush couch in the studio that had become her temporary sanctuary, the phone pressed firmly against her ear. The soft, gentle hum of the city outside the windows only added to the surreal quiet in the room as she spoke to her mother. It was a conversation she'd been dreading, but deep down, she knew it was inevitable. Her decision had been made.

"I told you, Mom," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotional storm brewing within her. "I'm not coming back. I'm going to live the rest of my days making them worth it—doing things for myself, not for anyone else." There was a finality in her words that she couldn't take back, but it was something she had to say. For once, she wasn't apologizing for the choices she made. She was determined to live on her own terms, no matter how difficult it was for her family to understand.

Her mother's voice came through the phone, shrill and filled with disbelief. "You're being selfish, Harper!" The words stung, but they weren't unexpected. She had heard this before, during all the difficult conversations where her mother tried to impose her own fears and anxieties onto Harper's choices. The guilt twisted inside her chest, but she refused to let it control her anymore.

Harper rolled her eyes, feeling the weight of her mother's anger. She let out a deep breath before responding, her voice a mix of softness and resolve. "It's time for me to be selfish, Mom. I'm sorry, but this is what I need. I love you." Her words hung in the air as she waited for a reply. But all she heard in return was the unmistakable click of the phone line going dead. Her mother had hung up on her. It wasn't the first time.

Harper stared at the screen of her phone for what felt like an eternity, her finger hovering over the device as if she might somehow undo the conversation. But she knew she couldn't. The decision had been made, and though the silence on the other end of the line echoed in her heart, she had to move forward. She had to live for herself now.

With a heavy sigh, she lowered the phone and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. She leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch and glanced around the studio, still in awe of the place. It was hard for her to believe that Freya had actually allowed her to stay in this beautiful space. The studio, nestled above a small herb shop, was elegant in ways Harper couldn't quite comprehend. Everything about it felt like a dream, a life she didn't deserve but was somehow allowed to have for a while.

The space was open and airy, with light streaming through large windows that gave the room an inviting, warm glow. The modern decor was sophisticated yet cosy, with a plush couch beneath a low, wooden coffee table. Above her, there was a lofted bed with a soft, white comforter and rich, dark wood beams stretching across the ceiling. It was nothing like the cramped apartment she had left behind.

Harper had been so taken aback when Freya had first shown her the space, practically speechless at the luxurious surroundings.

...

"Here's the place," Freya had said with a casual wave of her hand, though Harper could tell she was trying to downplay it. "Sorry if it's not much, but I want you to feel comfortable here. It should feel like home."

Home. The word felt foreign to Harper now, especially in a place that looked like it belonged in a travel brochure. Freya had insisted that it wasn't anything special, but to Harper, it was like a secret treasure—an oasis in the middle of a city full of strangers and unfamiliar faces.

Everything in the studio was pristine, from the neatly stacked books on the shelves to the fully stocked refrigerator that stood in the corner. Freya had mentioned it casually, almost as if it were no big deal. "Everything in here you can use," she had said. "And the food's all for you. I keep it stocked so you don't have to worry about groceries."

Harper felt the weight of that kindness and found herself overcome with gratitude. But at the same time, a sense of guilt began to creep in. She couldn't just accept this kind of generosity without doing something in return. She wasn't comfortable with the idea of taking and taking without giving something back.

"Oh, Freya, please," she said, her voice tinged with concern. "Let me pay you for something. I really can't just let you do all of this for me. I want to contribute in some way."

Freya let out a soft chuckle and crossed her arms. "Okay, fine. You cook us lunch every day—and occasionally dinner if you feel up to it. You can cook, right?"

Harper's mouth twitched into a small smile. Of course, she could cook. It was something her grandmother had taught her when she was just five years old—how to take pride in preparing meals from scratch, how to make each dish a little bit of home. "Yes," she said confidently. "I've been cooking since I was five. My granny taught me everything I know."

Freya grinned, relieved. "Thank goodness. I can't cook for the life of me, and I'm tired of the fancy meals my brother insists on making. He likes to dine like a king."

Harper laughed at the image of a spoiled brother who preferred gourmet meals over simple, home-cooked dishes. "Well," she said, smiling, "you'll be getting home-cooked meals now, ones that taste like comfort after a long day of work."

...

Freya had done so much for her, and in return, Harper felt a responsibility to make sure she didn't let her new friend down. But even with her newfound sense of purpose, a nagging feeling lingered. The overwhelming kindness she had been shown felt almost too much. She didn't deserve this. Yet, she was grateful, more than words could express.

The alarm on her phone suddenly buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was time for her medication. Harper hesitated for a moment before reaching into her duffle bag to retrieve the small pouch containing her pills. She eyed the bottles in her hand, knowing that they wouldn't save her. The pain would return, relentless, even if she took them. But for now, they helped. They dulled the ache, and gave her a temporary respite from the things she couldn't change.

A part of her wondered if she should just stop taking them—if the end was inevitable, then what was the point? But she knew the answer. She didn't want to spend her days in agony, even if it was only for a little while. She needed this time to feel something other than pain. She needed to be happy, to experience the simple pleasures of life, even if only for a short time.

Harper swallowed the pills, feeling the cool water slide down her throat. And as she set the empty glass down, she glanced around the studio again, taking in the space, the warmth, and the quiet hum of life outside.

She might not have a long time left, but at least for now, she had this—freedom, kindness, and the precious opportunity to make the last days of her life count for something. For the first time in ages, Harper felt like she had a purpose, a reason to wake up each day, despite the inevitable end that loomed over her. The world around her felt full of possibilities, and even though she couldn't control the time she had left, she could control how she spent it.

This was her chance to live, truly live, and to fill her final days with meaning, laughter, and memories that would outlast the pain. No more holding back, no more waiting for the future to come to her. She was here, and she was going to make this time hers.

The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Each day felt like a small victory, a moment stolen from the hands of fate. Harper wasn't sure what the future held, but for now, she had a place to call her own, people who cared, and the simple joy of living in a way that was all her own. She was going to make it count, no matter how short the time might be.