Chapter Thirty-two
Abigail-Ann
“I’ve tried so many times to think of a new way to say it, and it’s still I love you.”
~ Zelda Fitzgerald
T he weeks blurred— work, therapy, home, repeat. Some mornings, just getting up felt like a battle. The weight of everything sat heavy on my chest, my body trembling as I walked toward the door. Then came the pain—sharp, persistent. My endometriosis flared again, each cramp stealing my breath, draining my energy. The exhaustion, the discomfort, the tangled mess in my head—it all made everything harder.
But therapy helped. Slowly.
“You’re holding yourself to a past that isn’t yours anymore,” Dr. Green had said, voice gentle but firm. “His anger isn’t what hurt you. It’s the echo of what came before.”
I stared at my hands, gripping them tight in my lap.
“How do I… move on ?”
“By reminding yourself that you are safe. By letting yourself see him for who he is, not who your fear says he might become.”
And he was there. Always.
Mornings, parked on the curb, silent but steady. No words, just the soft click of the car door as he drove me to work. Even when I knew he should’ve been in a meeting. Even when he should’ve been running his empire. He still chose to be here.
One afternoon, I walked into the bookstore and found him waiting—a slice of chocolate cake and a Chipotle bowl on the table. No expectations. Just a quiet offering of comfort.
The next morning, I woke up aching, body heavy with pain. But on the kitchen table, a bouquet of primroses waited for me, along with a note:
You’re gonna be okay, baby.
I stared at it for minutes, my vision blurring, my fingers tracing the ink like it could hold me together.
After work, he showed up with barbecue ribs, sat beside me, and held my hand. Didn’t fill the silence with words. Didn’t need to.
Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d hear faint rustling outside my bedroom door. I never opened it, but I knew he was there. Close enough to catch me if I shattered, far enough to let me come back to him on my own.
And then, one night, I stepped out of the bookstore, drained and distant. And there he was—hoodie, street light glowing behind him, a smoothie in his hand.
Before I could say a word, his fingers softly brushed mine.
“Take all the time you need,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And I believed him.
He never went anywhere.
When I was too exhausted to make dinner, food appeared—my favorites, still warm. When my body ached too much to move, the heating pad was already plugged in. When my anxiety crept in, my phone would vibrate:
Breathe, baby.
I’m here with you.
I’ve got you.
He should’ve been at board meetings, press conferences, expanding his empire. Instead, he was outside my door. Choosing me.
We sat together, talking about nothing while Beauty and the Beast played in the background. And as the weeks passed, the safety I thought I’d lost slowly returned.
One night, I finally reached for his hand first.
His breath hitched, just slightly, before his fingers closed around mine.
His voice was quiet, reverent. “I missed you, mi reina. 65 ”
I didn’t have the words yet, but I squeezed his hand.
And for now, that was enough.
Little by little, I let myself trust again.
Little by little, I came back to him.
After countless back-and-forths, moments of doubt, and waves of hesitation, I found myself standing outside Mikkel’s office.
No plan. No rehearsed speech.
Just my pulse pounding in my ears and my fingers trembling at my sides.
I almost turned back. Almost let the fear win.
But Dr. Green’s words surfaced in my mind.
“Fear is a habit, Abigail. So is self-protection. But love? Love is a choice. A scary one, sometimes. But if you want to heal, you have to let yourself choose it.”
I took a breath. Then another.
And I stepped forward.
The door was slightly ajar, voices drifting from inside. Before I could second-guess myself, I pushed it open and walked in.
Mikkel, mid-sentence, froze.
His entire body went still.
“Gentlemen, meeting’s over,” he said immediately, voice sharp, commanding—final.
No hesitation. No second glances.
The men filed out silently, but Mikkel’s eyes never left me. Wide with surprise. Shadowed with confusion.
“What ar—?”
I didn’t let him finish.
I crossed the room, closed the space between us, and kissed him.
Raw. Desperate. Passionate.
The world blurred, leaving only his sharp inhale, the heat of his hands near my waist, and the unspoken words heavy between us.
When I pulled away, I rested my forehead against his.
“I was a mess,” I whispered, my voice steadier than I expected. “The past bled into the present, and it scared me. But none of that matters now.” I swallowed. “I’m here. I’m safe with you.”
His breath caught—just slightly. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t know if he should.
Dr. Green’s voice echoed again. “You’ve been wired to expect disappointment. To prepare for abandonment. But Abigail, you have to let yourself believe in the love that stays.”
“But,” I continued softly, “you have to control the anger. You have to try. I know it’s not easy. I know you’ve never had to.”
His eyes darkened—not with defensiveness, but with something heavier.
I let my hands trail down his chest, grounding both of us. “I have my anxiety, Mikkel. You have your anger. But we can help each other. Let me help you the way you’ve helped me.”
His gaze dropped. “I don’t know how. ”
The admission was barely above a whisper.
“I don’t snap often,” he muttered, voice tight. “I don’t—I don’t lose it like that. But that day… it just happened.” He exhaled, his hands raking through his hair. “And I lost you.”
I reached up, cupping his cheek, urging him to look at me. “Then let me be your calm until you find it.”
His exhale was slow.
Dr. Green’s words resurfaced: “Healing isn’t about erasing the hard parts of yourself. It’s about learning to hold them with gentleness.”
I took a careful breath. “When you feel it building, don’t shut me out. Don’t let it fester until it explodes. Talk to me. Even if it’s hard. Even if you don’t have the words. Let me be the one you lean on the way I always lean on you.”
Mikkel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”
I smiled—soft, knowing. “Mikkel, I already have.”
His breath hitched.
I let my hands settle over his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded beneath my palms. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to always be in control. But when it feels like too much, focus on something you love. Something that keeps you grounded.”
His stare held mine, unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I’ll do better. I promise, baby.”
A pause. Then, softer, “I swear it.”
Mikkel rested his forehead against mine, hesitation replaced by intent.
Then, after a long pause, he whispered, “Gracias por volver a mí.”
I swallowed hard, blinking up at him. “You’re gonna have to translate that, Mr. Suarez.”
A small, almost shy smile flickered across his lips. “Thank you for coming back to me.”
Emotion swelled in my chest. I kissed him again, slower this time. Softer .
When I pulled back, I whispered, “I couldn’t stay away.”
Mikkel cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheek as if memorizing the feel of me choosing him.
Then, finally—his voice barely above a breath:
“I’ll never scare you like that again.”
I didn’t answer with words.
I stayed close enough to hear his unsteady breath, letting his promise sink in.