Wren

It's almost a relief to tell, chipping off a little bit of the bitterness of keeping the story to herself. It's needled at her for a long time now and when Wren just holds her closer, it helps her breathe. She's made it, mostly. Maybe she doesn't fly first class and she has to take the bus everywhere, but she lives independent of their money and their ultimatums.

I've done all right, she says. I went from living in a penthouse to a studio with creative folding screens.

But she's also found good people. She's found Wren.

And found out what she's made of.

I'm glad too. You're here.