Epilogue
Beyond 'The End'
The early morning sun shines through the window of the cabin.
Miles is still tucked snugly under my arm.
The rise and fall of his chest suggests he’s still in a deep sleep.
I don’t move. I don’t try to pry myself gently from his grasp.
I just stay there, tucked under the heavy comforter, staring out the window into the green forest of the Pacific Northwest.
For the longest time, my mind was a prison and my body a death sentence.
I couldn’t sleep; I was unable to relax; I couldn’t live.
I used to fear the silence. Silence provoked my mind to race with thoughts that would send the average man to the grave—thoughts that almost sent me there.
Looking out into the trees, I half-expect a shadow to be there, watching.
But there’s nothing. Just birds fluttering and leaves swaying in the morning breeze.
For the first time I can truly say that I feel safe.
I shift my focus back to Miles, his arm wrapped over my ribs.
I take his hand in mine and run my finger over the scars on his knuckles and remember: with him by my side, I really am safe.
He’s already proven to me the lengths that he’ll go.
I just need to prove to him, too, that I’d do the same.
I rub my thumb over his ring finger and imagine what it’d feel like for a small piece of gold to be there, glistening in the sunlight.
A lump forms in my throat as I try to hold back tears, but I smile through it.
Miles stirs, a soft, sleepy mumble escaping his lips. I tighten my grip around his hand and plant a kiss on his forehead.
“Good morning.” His voice is still hoarse, and he keeps his eyes shut tight.
“‘Morning,” I sink further into the mattress and pull him closer to me. If I could lie here forever with him, I would. And life feels so much more worth living now than it ever has before.