17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing 17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing Spring arrived like a whispered promise, unfurling petals and pale light along Long Island Sound. 1 Lina Hart stood barefoot on the porch of Elias Byrne's lighthouse cottage, warm mug in hand, watching the tide draw faint trails across the sand. The air smelled of thyme, sea salt, and something unfamiliar- contentment. Bruce stepped out beside her, holding two plates of steaming chowder, heavy with garlic and fresh herbs. "You should open a bistro," Lina murmured. He shrugged, smiling. "Only if you promise to design the aprons." They sat on the porch steps, bowls balanced on their knees. The silence was soft-not heavy like the silences of her past. This one allowed space to breathe, to rebuild. - By day, they patched cracked shutters, painted wind-worn trim, and sanded old driftwood into usable benches. Lina spent hours sketching beneath the spiral staircase, inspiration blooming from barnacles, weathered rope, broken shells. Each new design told a story not of survival, but of resilience. Of healing. By night, they walked along the tide pools, barefoot in the wet sand, fingers occasionally brushing but never forced. "I want to start something here," Lina said one evening, stopping at the edge of a shallow inlet. Bruce tilted his head. "Like a boutique?" "No. A program. For trauma survivors. Women who want to create but can't afford art school or time off work. A space where they're safe to stitch and sketch, even if they never sell a single garment." 10.15 4/5 < 17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing Bruce was quiet for a moment. Then: "A lighthouse for others." Lina looked at him. "Yes," she whispered. "Exactly that." Letters began to arrive once a month-sealed in plain white envelopes, postmarked from a correctional facility. All were signed by Mason. Short. Reflective. Apologetic. Lina never responded. But she read them. Then burned each one on the edge of the bluff, letting the ashes catch the wind like stray feathers. "I forgive what I understand," she said to the sky. "But I don't return to what harmed me." One evening, Bruce brought her a gift: a leather sketchbook embossed with stylized ocean waves, its spine bound with reclaimed sail thread. She opened it to find her name etched in gold: **LINA HART** *The woman who became her own rescue.* Tears welled without warning. She laughed, wiping at her eyes. "I didn't think I had tears left." Bruce stepped closer. "You don't need to cry for the girl you were." 10.16 215 < 17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing He gently took her hand. "Just create for the woman you've become." She didn't let go. That night, under stars and the old lighthouse beam, they kissed for the first time. No urgency. No need to be saved. Only mutual recognition: two people who had chosen each other freely. "It's your turn." Lina only nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. 10:16 < 17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing One day, as they cleaned out Elias's attic, Lina found a photo from years earlier-Elias in uniform, standing beside a young woman in a nurse's apron. His late wife. She showed him at dinner. He grunted, tearing a crust of bread. "She was stubborn. Like you." "I'll take that as a compliment." "You should." He chewed for a moment. Then added: "She would've liked you. All fire and no permission." Lina's latest collection shimmered with textures inspired by her time near the sea: rope embroidery, seashell- dyed linens, and silhouettes mimicking wind-carved cliffs. She named the line: **Tideproof.** Each tag read: > *"Not everything broken stays adrift."* On the final night of the season, they held a quiet fundraiser at the lighthouse. Donors stood shoulder-to-shoulder beneath paper lanterns. The wind played softly through the windows. And as Lina addressed the crowd, she didn't read from a script. She spoke from the shoreline of her soul. "I don't design to impress," she said. "I design to reclaim. To remind us that beauty is not about perfection. It's about persistence." The applause wasn't thunderous. 10.16 4/5 < 17 Chapter 17 - Designs of Healing It was reverent. Later, as the moon rose over the Sound, Bruce and Lina sat beneath the light. "I used to think healing meant forgetting," she said. Bruce shook his head. "It just means choosing something new." "And I choose this," she whispered. He looked at her. "I do, too." They clinked glasses. No contracts. No conditions. Only this truth: Some storms don't drown you. They deliver you.