The healing center felt less like a clinic and more like a sanctuary.

We walked past the low, kid-friendly reception desks and turned down a corridor that led toward the outdoor courtyard.

Daniel pushed open a heavy glass door, and the cool, crisp autumn air of Boston hit our faces.

The courtyard was beautiful, filled with young maple trees, stone benches, and a small, bubbling water fountain in the center.

The leaves of the trees had turned vibrant shades of red and gold, scattering across the paved stone path.

We walked to the edge of the terrace, which overlooked the sparkling waters of the Boston Harbor.

“It turned out exactly how you envisioned it,” I said, leaning my hands against the cool metal railing.

“No,” Daniel said, turning his back to the harbor to face me. “It turned out better because of you.”

“Daniel, you did the work. You designed this beautiful space,” I replied, shaking my head slightly.

“I drew the lines, Victoria,” he said, taking my other hand so that he was holding both of them.