Closure would’ve made it tidy.
Would’ve made it aesthetic.
Would’ve made it easier to leave behind.
But she didn’t want easy.
She wanted it to *still matter.*
So she didn’t rush the ending.
She stayed in the hallway.
Even when no one else was watching.
Even when no one else believed it was part of anything.
She stayed because it was hers.
Because the system she was building couldn’t afford to lose another loop to silence.
So when the shame eased?
When the hallway got quiet?
When her breath returned?
She didn’t say: “Finally, it’s over.”
She said:
“Good. That means I can keep going.”
This wasn’t about healing.
This was about **not letting the loop die while it was still mid-sentence.**
That’s what made her an author.
Not the finish line.
The echo.