Chapter 2 — A Fresh Start

Ariel

Ariel stood in the center of her tiny loft, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she could shield against the cold that seemed to seep through the walls. The quiet hum of the city outside her window filled the otherwise empty space, mingling with the faint aroma of herbal tea left forgotten on the counter. Boxes were stacked high against the exposed brick walls, the smell of cardboard faint but insistent, grounding her in the present.

Her gaze drifted to her mother’s vintage leather satchel sitting alone on the counter. The soft morning light caught its brass buckles, making them gleam like small, watchful eyes. It waited, as it always did, a silent reminder of the weight it carried—not just tools and notes, but a legacy. Ariel’s fingers twitched, itching to touch it, but she hesitated. The satchel had belonged to her mother, a gift from her father when she became chief of cardiology. Her mother had worn it like armor. Ariel wasn’t sure she deserved to carry it at all.

The loft was silent except for the intermittent creak of the hardwood floor beneath her bare feet. Too silent. The stillness had a way of amplifying her thoughts, drawing out memories she wanted to keep buried. Her lips pressed into a thin line as Mrs. Finch’s face flickered in her mind—the fragile smile, the knowing eyes, the echo of a soft voice saying, “You remind me of my daughter.”

Ariel clenched her jaw, her hands moving to the frayed hem of her sweater, fingers worrying the fabric as her mind wrestled with the offer from Dr. Lin. A position with the New York Blades. Sports medicine. A chance to rebuild. A chance to fail spectacularly. Again.

She moved to the window, drawing her arms tighter around herself as she stared out at the snow-blanketed city. Steam rose from manhole covers, curling up into the gray winter air. The muted sounds of honking horns and the crunch of tires over icy streets drifted upward. The pristine white snow had smoothed over the city’s rough edges, giving it a fleeting softness. She used to believe in that—used to believe she could smooth out her own edges, too. But now? Now she wasn’t so sure.

The sharp trill of her phone startled her, breaking the spell of her thoughts. She flinched, fumbling to unearth it from a pile of folded papers on the nightstand. Her stomach twisted when she saw the caller ID: Dad.

She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen before answering. “Hi, Dad.”

“Ariel!” His voice was warm, rich, and as steady as a heartbeat, a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. “How’s my favorite doctor?”

Her chest tightened. “I’m okay,” she said, but her voice sounded tight even to her own ears. She glanced at the satchel on the counter and placed a steadying hand on it. “Just… packing.”

“Packing?”

“I’m moving,” she admitted, her thumb tracing a scar in the satchel’s leather. “New job.”

“The Blades position,” he said, a note of recognition in his voice. “Rebecca mentioned it when she called last week.”

Of course, Dr. Lin had called him. They’d worked together years ago, and Ariel had always sensed their mutual respect. Her father admired Rebecca’s brilliance; Rebecca often spoke highly of his steady wisdom. The connection made sense, but it also made her feel exposed, like their pride in her was conspiring to set her up for failure.

“It’s temporary,” she said quickly. “Just something to get me back on my feet.”

“Well,” he said, his tone calm but probing, “how do you feel about it?”

She hesitated, her hand tightening on the satchel’s strap. “I don’t know. Nervous, I guess. It’s not what I imagined for myself.”

“No one’s first step back is ever what they imagined,” he said gently. “But it’s a step. And sometimes that’s enough.”

Her throat ached at his words, and she looked down at her feet. “What if I mess it up again?” she asked, barely above a whisper. The words rushed out before she could stop them, raw and trembling.

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “Not because you’re perfect—we both know no one is—but because now you know how to learn from your mistakes. You don’t have to be perfect, Ariel. You just have to try.”

A bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” he said, his voice softening. “But it’s worth it. And Ariel?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to carry all of her expectations. Your mother would want you to be happy—not perfect.”

Her grip on the phone tightened, her eyes burning. A memory surfaced, unbidden: her mother at the kitchen table, hair mussed and eyes tired but warm. “You’re going to change lives one day,” she’d said, her voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I’ll be so proud of you. No matter what.”

Ariel closed her eyes against the memory’s weight. “I know,” she whispered into the phone, her voice cracking as she said goodbye.

When the call ended, the silence of the loft rushed back in, heavy and familiar. Her father’s words lingered, mingling with her mother’s memory. Happiness, not perfection. It seemed so simple. Yet impossibly far away.

Her gaze drifted back to the satchel. Slowly, she reached out and ran her fingers over its surface. The leather was warm beneath her touch, its texture worn but reassuring. The faint scent of aged leather rose as she leaned closer. For a moment, she could almost picture her mother slinging it over her shoulder, standing tall and confident.

Ariel snapped the satchel’s buckles shut with a decisive click and slung the strap over her shoulder. The weight of it felt different now—not lighter, but steadier. Manageable.

The next few hours passed in a blur of packing and cleaning. She boxed up her past piece by piece, her movements growing more deliberate with each taped-up lid. By the time she stood at her apartment door with the last box in hand, her exhaustion was matched only by a fragile bloom of anticipation.

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, settling on the cobblestone streets below. Her cab waited at the curb, the driver glancing at his dashboard clock with thinly veiled impatience. Ariel climbed in, placing the satchel carefully on the seat beside her. The leather creaked softly as she adjusted it, the sound oddly comforting.

As the cab pulled away, she gazed out the window, watching the city blur past. A figure skated across a frozen pond in the park, their movements fluid and unbroken. Steam curled upward from a nearby food cart, where a bundled-up vendor handed a steaming cup to a shivering customer. Life moved on. The world didn’t stop for fear or failure.

For the first time in months, she felt the faintest flicker of hope. It was small, fragile—but it was enough.

A fresh start.

She could do this.

She had to.