On her final morning in Lamu, Joey woke before sunrise. The sky was soft pink, the ocean calm. She walked to the beach with a small tin box tucked under her arm.
Inside were four letters.
One to Zed. One to Paul. One to Wayne. One to herself.
She sat on the sand and read them aloud, voice quiet but steady.
> Dear Zed,
> You showed me truth. You made me feel seen. But I need to see myself first. I hope you understand.
> Dear Paul,
> You were my beginning. But not my end. I forgive you. But I'm moving forward.
> Dear Wayne,
> Thank you for your honesty. For your friendship. For your silence when I needed it.
> Dear Joey,
> You are enough. You are becoming. You are brave.
She placed the letters in the tin, dug a small hole, and buried them beneath a palm tree.
She whispered, "Goodbye."
Then she stood, brushed the sand from her hands, and walked back to the guesthouse.
Asha was waiting with breakfast.
"You buried your past," she said.
Joey nodded. "And planted my future."
Asha smiled. "Now go live it."
Joey packed her bag, hugged Asha tightly, and boarded the boat back to the mainland.
She didn't feel finished.
But she felt ready.