The years had worn her down, her once sharp eyes now clouded with regret. She lay in a bed, frail and alone, when the door opened and Rejoice entered, a clipboard in hand. Monica’s eyes widened in recognition, her voice a mere whisper.
“Rejoice…”
“Yes, Aunt Monica,” Rejoice replied calmly, setting down her clipboard. “I am here to help you.”
And as she tended to the woman who had once caused her unimaginable pain, Rejoice realized that forgiveness was not a gift to others but a freeing of one’s own soul. In that moment, Rejoice knew she had not only risen above her past but had transformed it, turning cruelty into compassion and scars into strength.
She had become the healer she dreamed of, and in doing so, had healed herself.
