✨ Prologue — Frosty on the Balcony
The elevator rang, and I was on my floor.
I was too distracted to care — counting the little bumblebees on my beaded keychain like they were talismans holding me together. I stepped out of the elevator, the hallway quiet… not that I noticed. I had the same song on repeat for days now: “Take You There” — Sean Kingston.
I was half-dancing on the way to my door, praying no one saw me.
When I finally unlocked my apartment door, the warmth hit first — then the faint smell of vanilla and bergamot from my jacket, clinging to the air like a memory.
When i took my jacket off and put my earbuds away i stood for a moment breathing it in. In one- deep breath.
The place was silent except for the soft hum of cars passing far below. And, of course, the annoying chirp of my neighbor’s fire alarm — the same one that drove me half mad my first few weeks here, when I couldn’t figure out where the hell it was coming from.
It still beat walking on eggshells.
Still beat tiptoeing around someone else’s house, trying not to “be a bother,” trying not to take up space I wasn’t sure I was allowed to have.
My own little, chaotic piece of “home.”
It wasn’t my sore feet that made me pause, or the broken shoe stand listing to the side, or the overflowing garbage bag waiting by the door. Even the half-spun crochet projects on the table — frozen mid-thought, like the version of me who left them half-finished — weren’t what stopped me.
Yes, the inflatable Frosty I bought from Walmart for $22.99 — “best purchase of my life,” I said at the time.
Because when I got off work today, he looked worse than me. Slumped over, twisted, half-deflated… a physical representation of my entire day. Patients. Coworkers. And especially HIM — who managed to take up space in my chest more than any man had in months, even on a day he barely spoke to me.
For a moment, I just stood there staring at Frosty through the glass, hands thawing slowly. Then, despite the wind and despite my exhaustion, I stepped out onto the balcony in my robe and slippers. The cold hit instantly, sharp and honest.
He leaned against the railing like he’d been through the worst.
“Same, bro,” I muttered under my breath.
I straightened him up anyway — tugged his base, fixed his scarf, adjusted his straps so the wind wasn't tugging at him so harsh. Gave him the support and love he needed, even though my fingers were freezing.
Just like I wish someone would do for me at the end of a long day.
But as I stood there — hair in the wind, robe tied half-loose, Frosty finally sitting upright again — something small and warm clicked inside me.
I can do this for myself.
Piece by piece. Day by day.
From a basement that didn’t feel like mine,
to a driveway full of boxes,
to a sister’s home I fit into but never quite belonged,
to a clinic full of chaos and handsome men and everything in between,
to an eighth-floor apartment with a tired snowman and a tired girl learning to hold herself up.
Slowly, quietly, I’m choosing myself.
And maybe — finally — I’m starting to stay.
