soleil just went straight to her, unasked, and the way my hands stayed open felt less like a choice and more like a quiet surprise. There are still days the automatic clenching comes back, that instant mental calculation of what I HAVE to hold onto, what I CAN'T let go of, even when the actual numbers in my bank account are fine. It's a phantom limb ache, this impulse to hoard, to grip, to never, ever be surprised by an open hand again because an open hand used to mean I'd just lost something I needed to survive. Sometimes I just let my hands hang loose, like a test, just to prove I can now. There was a time when my hands were so clenched, so TIGHT, that I thought the very bones would fuse together, just to make sure nothing, not one single thing, could ever be pried from me again. It’s wild how much space that takes up, that constant vigilance, and sometimes I still just stare at my palms, marveling at how un-furrowed they've become, how naturally they just… rest now.