She’d spent so many years building a sturdy shelter against bad news—walls of contingency plans, roofs of low expectations. She knew how to handle a crisis. A panic attack over a deadline? Manageable. A spiral over a fight? Routine. But this? A panic attack because the world was smiling at her?
Her breath hitched. She gripped the bench slats. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered to the daisy. “I’m having a happy heart panic.”
She took a slow, shaking breath. Then another.
The flamenco softened into a waltz. The cliff edge became solid ground. And the joy, once so sharp it hurt, settled into a warm, humming glow in her stomach.
Elara should have felt light. Instead, she felt the ground give way.
Elara closed her eyes. She did the only thing she knew how to do when her body betrayed her. She leaned into it.