The beautiful death of an old ghost

Dear Delyara, I passed the street where my old business partner used to live—the one who took everything I had, lied to my face, and left me to clear the bankruptcy files while I was working double shifts on the frontline. For years, just hearing the name of that street would cause my stomach to drop and my blood to run cold with an absolute, burning hatred. Tonight, I walked right past the building, looked up at the windows, and realized my heart rate hadn't changed by a single beat. I felt no anger, no resentment, no desire for vengeance. I just felt a quiet, beautiful indifference. The wound has finally turned to solid scar tissue. I am no longer defined by the people who hurt me; I am entirely free.