Chapter 18
After meeting by the creek, the days passed in silence. Since then, the person who had been.
observing me had disappeared, or at least had not returned,red myself that it was
nothing more than a local strolling and showing interest in the newcomer to town. But I was unable to eliminate the lingering pain.
To alleviate the discomfort, I threw myself into my work and took on new initiatives at the nonprofit where I had just been hired on a part–time basis. While planning food drives, communicating with local shelters, and reaching out to potential donors wasn’t glamorous work, it gave me a sense of direction. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was contributing to
something greater than myself.
The restless unrest that was beneath the surface continued even as my sense of success
increased. I was searching for something more, a way to feel alive again after so many years of just existing.
One Friday afternoon, as I was leafing through a vacation magazine I had bought on impulse, I stumbled onto a beautiful snapshot of a beach village The turquoise lakes and ivory homes appeared to be from a dream
Greece.
I had the thought all of a sudden. I had made a lot of excuses during my time with Liam, but I had. always wanted to see the world. There was always something more significant to focus on, an excuse to delay my personal objectives.
But that’s no longer the case.
Three weeks later, I walked off a ship onto the sandy beaches of a little island in Greece. The salty breeze caressed my face as the sound of waves smashing against the rocky shore filled the air.
I had booked a modest room at a family–run guesthouse on a hilltop with a view of the sea. The owners, an old couple named Nikos and Eleni, welcomed me with a platter of bread and fresh olives as soon as I arrived.
“You’re traveling alone?” Eleni’s sharp eyes scrutinized me as we sat on the porch.
“I am,” I said with a smile, amazed at how easily the words came to me.
She acknowledged with a nod. “Good.” “You know, loneliness can be liberating.”
During the next three days, I adjusted to the slower pace of island life. I walked the cobblestone streets in the mornings, where whitewashed walls were covered in bougainvillea and stores welcomed me as I passed. With the sun warming my skin and the sound of the waves lulling me into a level of calm I hadn’t experienced in years, I would spend afternoons reading a book while relaxing on the beach.
One evening, sitting at a little café overlooking the seaside, I started a conversation with Yannis, a local artist. He was in his fifties, his hands painted from years of manufacture, his beard salt–and-
pepper
*You seem like someone searching for something.” he said in a cold yet inquisitive manner.
I was taken aback by his observation and halted. “Maybe I am.”
He smiled and gestured to the sketchbook before him. “You should try drawing” Putting what’s
inside on the page will help you see it more clearly
I laughed quietly and shook my head. “I’m terrible at art”
“Everyone is, at first,” he remarked with a shrug. is about letting go, not about being good.
The next day, I went into town and got some pencils and a little sketchpad. On the stony beach, I sat with the pad on my knees and started drawing.
My lines were t
tentative at first, and my hands appeared unsure. But as the hours went by, I started to care more about how it felt than how it looked
Making something, even if it was just a shoddy drawing, felt freeing. It reminded me of the journaling I was doing and how it had helped me to untangle my thoughts.
Looking through the pages of my sketchpad that night, I was amazed at how full I had made it. The sketches were mine, imperfect as they were.
For the first time, I felt like I was finding my voice again.
My recently acquired love for art expanded throughout the course of the following several weeks.” Yannis showed me his well–lit workshop, which was brimming with paintings and sculptures that depicted the island’s history and beauty.
When he spotted me sketching a yacht in the port one afternoon, he remarked, “You’ve got a good eye,”
I grinned, experiencing a warmth I had never experienced before. “I’m grateful. I guess I’m learning to appreciate this.
“Good,” he said. “You never know where it can lead you.” “Keep going.”
I was totally different at the end of my visit. The woman who had arrived on the island weighed down like a large boulder by her past had begun to wane. She was replaced with someone lighter, freer, and more open to what was ahead.
As I boarded the ferry to depart, Eleni thrust a tiny box into my hand.
“For you,” she added with a wink
Inside was a beautiful bracelet with little blue beads.
“Safe travels, Nora,” she remarked with a smile.
As I emptied my suitcase at the cottage, I felt both grateful and depressed. The trip had been
pivotal, a reminder that there were other worlds outside the one I had left behind.
That night, I sat by the fire and wrote in my journal about our voyage.
“It is not easy to let go of someone. It’s challenging and uncomfortable, and you often wish you could go back in time. But it’s also liberating. When standing on the edge of something new, it’s recognizing that you have the strength to take the initial step.
I discovered an email in my inbox the next morning when I woke up. It was from the magazine to which I had sent an essay prior to my trip to Greece
“Dear Nora,” is the opening line of the message. “Thank you for submitting your work. We are happy to notify you that your article, ‘Finding Freedom, has been accepted for inclusion in our next issue.”
As I stared at the TV, my heart was racing. They were meant to hear my story, what I had to tell.
It appeared as though the final puzzle piece had just been placed.
As I celebrated the news with a beautiful dinner on the patio, I reflected on how far I’d come. I still missed the life I’d left behind, even though it didn’t feel like an anchor pulling me down
I was moving forward for the first time in years.
My phone was buzzing on the nightstand as I went to bed that night. I scowled as I picked it up and found a new message from the unknown number.
“You can run, but you can’t hide forever.”
The words sent shivers down my spine and upended the peace I had fought so hard to attain.
Whoever it was, they weren’t finished with me.
And for the first time, I questioned whether I would ever be completely free.
