Epilogue One Year Later
Providence is beautiful in the fall.
I’m standing in Jackson’s studio space at RISD, a real studio now, with his thesis show hanging on the walls. His art has evolved over the year, become more confident, more him.
My camera is around my neck. I’ve been taking photos full-time, building a portfolio that’s actually gotten attention from a few galleries. I’m applying to medical schools for next fall, but on my terms this time. Programs that value creativity alongside science.
“Ready?” Jackson asks, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Almost. I just want to look at this one a bit longer.”
It’s a painting of me. Bold colors and confident strokes that somehow capture who I am better than any photograph.
“You painted me brave,” I say.
“Because you are brave. Braver than you think.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You chose yourself. Your happiness. That’s the bravest thing anyone can do.”
I turn in his arms. “We did it. We actually made it work.”
“Did you doubt we would?” He asks.
“Sometimes. But then I’d remember why we’re doing this. Why it matters.”
“And why does it matter?”
“Because love is worth fighting for. Because choosing myself means I get to choose you. Because this, us. Is the best decision I’ve ever made.”
He kisses me, soft and sweet and perfect.
“Come on,” he says. “Your mom is waiting at the restaurant.”
“She’s really coming?”
“She called me last week. Said she wants to see you. Maybe even apologize.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I joke.
But there’s hope in my voice. Because if I can change, maybe she can too.
We walk out of the studio hand in hand, into a future that’s uncertain and terrifying and absolutely ours.
And that’s enough.
More than enough.
It’s everything.
THE END