I climbed the last step.
It vibrated beneath my feet, imperceptibly, as if it hesitated to be trodden, as if it was testing the legitimacy of my passage. A dull shiver, barely more than a breath, rose along my legs — but it did not give way.
It held firm.
And I, standing upon it, understood that it was not the step that trembled. It was me. My body. My story. Everything I carried. It was not a step like the others. It was a threshold. The final one.
It accepted me. Not because I was ready. But because, for the first time, I no longer wanted to flee. Because I was no longer the one who had entered here.
The world, behind me, collapsed. Literally.
