Chapter Six
Abigail-Ann
“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”
~ Nat King Cole
F ailure is not an option.
The words looped in my mind, tight as a noose. I had chosen this path, and my future depended on passing this exam. It was either a 3.8 or higher GPA, or nothing. But as I sat surrounded by the chaos of textbooks, half-eaten bags of barbecue Lays, and scattered notes, it was hard to believe.
The storm of my final exam loomed heavily, and the marketing and finance course was tearing me apart. My mind, though, refused to cooperate, drifting far from the papers and formulas spread out before me.
Joshua’s name flashed on my phone screen again: Text me back, I miss you. More pleas for attention I kept ignoring. It wasn’t guilt that kept me from replying. It was exhausting. The kind that settled in my bones after years of feeling unseen, unheard. It was as if he thought I was a switch he could turn on and off whenever it suited him.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the reply button before shaking my head and tossing my phone aside. I wasn’t going to do a back-and-forth with him again.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Mikkel. But he had a way of slipping in anyway. His face, his laugh, his voice—everything played on a loop in my head.
What was it about him that made me want to see him again? Maybe it was the way he looked at me, as if he truly saw me, or his deep, rumbling laugh that felt like sunlight breaking through my storms. Or maybe it was how his words brought out a smile—not polite or forced, but one that felt like it was meant to stay.
I sighed and ran a hand over my face, trying to shake him off. God, just focus on something else. But even as I tried to block the thoughts, they lingered, like the smell of fresh rain on a summer night—impossible to forget.
Did he think of me too? That question, so simple but so frustrating, buzzed in my mind. Did he replay our encounters the same way I did? Were his thoughts just as tangled? I felt myself getting lost in the idea of him, and it was maddening. Especially when I had Joshua’s texts sitting there, unanswered, taunting me.
This felt so wrong, so complicated—but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
What kind of person did that make me? Daydreaming about some sexy stranger I’d spoken to only thrice while ignoring my “boyfriend’s” attempts to get my attention? The logical side of me screamed to snap out of it, to stop letting my thoughts drift. Joshua and I had been together for almost six years, and while the spark was as dead as a doornail, we still hadn’t ended things—not yet. But here I was, fantasizing about someone else—and it felt so good.
Maybe this was the beginning of something I didn’t even understand. I really need a distraction .
But oh wait, I was supposed to be studying.
Focus, Abigail.
With a heavy sigh, I glanced at my notes filled with market analysis and investment strategies as they blurred together. Highlighting key phrases to ground myself, I spent the rest of the night trying to master the course.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I awoke to the sound of Azzy crowing the lyrics of “Uh Oh” by Tate McRae. My head throbbed, my body heavy with exhaustion, but the relentless singing gave me no choice but to pry my eyes open. Rubbing the sleep away, I forced myself out of bed, dragged my feet to the bathroom, and brushed my teeth before making my way to the kitchen—where Azzy’s voice only seemed to grow louder by the second.
“Morning, Azzy,” I mumbled around a yawn. “You’re suspiciously happy. Should I be worried?”
She twirled around, beaming. “Good morning! Did I wake you? I’m leaving in ten minutes, and no, you don’t need to worry.”
I chuckled, reaching for a bottle of water. “Your crowing is quite the alarm.”
“ Crowing? Rude.” Azzy grinned, but her expression softened. “Sorry, though. I know you were up studying late last night. Good luck with your exam today.”
“Thanks,” I said, cracking open the bottle. “And remember, I’m leaving this weekend.”
“Ugh. I wish you could stay forever.” She groaned, glancing at her phone. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll definitely talk later. I love you.”
“Love you too!” I called after her as she hurried out the door.
The second she was gone, the weight in my chest returned. A tight, suffocating knot that made every breath feel just a little too shallow.
I knew what I had to do this weekend. The decision had been made. But that didn’t make it any easier. The thought of it pulled me down like a rock sinking to the bottom of the ocean. No matter how much I braced myself, the anxiety still clawed at my ribs, my brain already spiraling through every possible outcome.
Breaking up with someone after years together—years that had shaped so much of who I was—wasn’t just difficult; it felt like an unraveling. Like stepping off a ledge and not knowing if there would be anything to catch me.
I pressed my palms against the counter, my fingers curling against the cool surface as I inhaled deeply. The dread wasn’t about losing him—I’d checked out long ago. It was the uncertainty that followed. What did this mean for my future? What if I never found someone who truly loved me? What if I ended up alone? My thoughts tangled together, looping into a cycle of worst-case scenarios. My chest grew tight, my pulse hammering, my stomach twisting into knots that refused to unravel.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled slowly, forcing myself to pull away from the spiral. There were things I had control over, and right now, that was my exam. I had studied all night for it, and no amount of anxiety was going to make me fail.
Pushing past the nerves, I grabbed my bag and hurried out the door, my mind still buzzing as I made my way to NYU. The city blurred around me, my brain too consumed with overanalyzing everything to process my surroundings.
By the time I sat down in the exam room, my heart was already racing. My fingers curled around my pen, too tight, my breath short and uneven. The questions stared back at me, the letters almost blurring together as my mind blanked for a terrifying second.
This is it. What if you fail? What if you read the questions wrong? What if—
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to take another breath. I had studied for this. I knew the material. One question at a time. I grounded myself, focusing on the paper in front of me, and slowly, the answers started to come .
The moment I handed in my paper, a wave of relief washed over me, so overwhelming that I nearly stumbled on my way out of the room. It was done. No more late-night cramming, no more lectures, no more deadlines hanging over my head. I could finally breathe—or at least, I thought I could.
Then my phone buzzed.
The second I saw Gianna Mendez’s name, my stomach twisted into something ugly.
Gianna Mendez: I know things between you and Joshua are messy, but he needs a second chance. He misses you.
My grip tightened around my phone. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. She had some fucking nerve.
I stared at the message, my pulse pounding in my ears. The way my chest constricted made me feel like I couldn’t take in a full breath. My brain immediately latched onto every possibility—Was he trying to manipulate me again? Did she seriously think I’d fall for this? How many other people had he lied to? How many times had he spun some sob story about me just to play the victim?
No. No more.
My fingers flew across the screen.
Me: Ride his dick for as long as you want. Never text me again.
I blocked her number before she even had a chance to respond.
Joshua was a lying, cheating, manipulative, toxic whore, and Gianna was nothing more than a backstabbing bitch. I didn’t have the time or energy to entertain either of them anymore.
Closing the chat, I exhaled sharply and hailed a taxi to Common at the Reserve, where I was meeting the realtor. My chest tightened with a mix of dread and cold determination—the sooner I moved on, the better.
By the time I arrived at the apartment complex, Emilia was already waiting in the lobby, scrolling through her phone. As I stepped inside, the sharp click of her heels echoed against the tile. She glanced up, flashing a bright smile. Emilia was one of my sister’s friends—more out of convenience than true connection—but I couldn’t deny my gratitude for how quickly she’d found this place.
“Abigail! Hey, how are you?” She greeted me.
I forced a smile. “I’m okay.”
“Ready to see your potential new home?” she asked, her enthusiasm unwavering.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
The building itself was impressive—clean lines, neutral tones, a sleek modern aesthetic that felt polished without being cold.
“Aurora said you wanted something simple,” Emilia noted as we walked down the hallway.
I nodded. “One-bedroom, spacious but not excessive, with plenty of closet space.”
“We’ve seen a few duds,” she admitted with a small smirk. “But I have a good feeling about this one.”
So did I. Eight apartments in, and all of them had been underwhelming. Too dark, too cramped, too outdated. One was practically a shoebox with a kitchen that barely fit a microwave. Another overlooked an alleyway that reeked of garbage. I was starting to think I’d have to settle.
When we reached the last door on today’s list, Emilia shot me a knowing look before pushing it open.
“Okay,” she said, stepping aside. “Tell me what you think.”
I walked in and stilled. Sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, washing over the open-concept living space. Light gray walls and warm hardwood floors stretched out before me, the furniture modern yet cozy. The kitchen had sleek countertops, new appliances, and—thank God—actual storage. The bedroom was spacious, the bathroom spotless, and the closet? Massive.
My shoulders sagged, the tension in my chest loosening.
“This is exactly what I was looking for,” I murmured, running my fingers over the cool kitchen counter .
Emilia beamed. “And the best part? It’s fully furnished, so you can move in immediately.”
I exhaled, already picturing it. A soft throw draped over the sofa, candles flickering in the dim light, Beauty and the Beast playing in the background while I curled up with a bag of barbecue Lay’s.
“This feels like home,” I admitted, surprising even myself.
She grinned. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. The rent is thirty-six hundred a month, but since you’re a student, I pulled some strings—you’ll get a twenty-five percent discount for the first three months.”
I hesitated. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” she said, then paused. “Well… you drive, right?”
I frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
She gave me a knowing look. “Parking in this city is a nightmare. Having a car is both a blessing and a curse.”
I shrugged. “Not a dealbreaker. What else?”
Emilia leaned against the counter, glancing toward the window. “You’re in a prime location. Restaurants, parks, nightlife, and shopping all within walking distance.”
I nodded slowly. “And the noise levels?”
She hesitated, just long enough to make my stomach tighten.
“A bit during the day,” Emilia admitted. “It’s close to Central Park, so you’ll hear traffic.”
Something I could live with. “Safety?”
“Very secure,” she emphasized, leaning in. “ID at the front desk, swipe card access, and each floor has a personalized door code.”
I nodded. “Good. My parents would freak out otherwise.”
She chuckled. “Aurora made that clear.” Then, with an encouraging smile, she added, “This place is a steal. Rent only goes up around here.”
“Perfect.”
She handed me a folder—brochure, property rules, fee breakdown. “Review this. To lock it in, you’ll need the first month’s rent as a deposit. That covers admin, security, and taxes. Cleaning’s optional for an extra fee.”
“I’ll handle the cleaning. What’s the lease process? ”
“Six-month or one-year lease, then renewal. If you decide to leave, give a month’s notice. Once the deposit is paid, you can start moving in.” She tilted her head. “When are you thinking of moving?”
“Next month.” I exhaled, feeling the weight of reality settle. “Just need to sort out my car and finish packing.”
“That works. Gives you time to get everything in order.”
I tapped the folder against my palm. “I’ll run it by my parents and confirm.”
She stood, signaling the end of our conversation. “Sounds like a plan. Just text or email when you’re ready.”
We exchanged pleasantries, and I stepped outside. Warm air wrapped around me as I paused, absorbing the moment.
I was really doing this. Moving. Starting fresh.
The thought settled in my chest—not heavy, but firm.
First things first—call my parents.
I pulled out my phone and dialed, but they were busy. “We’ll call you back,” my mom said, her voice hurried.
Figures.
Slipping my phone into my bag, I hailed a cab for my nail appointment.
I let the nail tech, Kody, freestyle, and she chose almond-shaped nails with a soft ombré base, yellow floral accents, and gold foil. My toes matched with a delicate floral design, and the end result was stunning. I’d tried convincing Azzy to come, but she wasn’t in the mood.
Afterward, I checked the time and headed to therapy.
Dr. Green and I usually met over Zoom, but since I was in town, I figured an in-person session would be better. I’d been introduced to her through Azzaria, who had stepped back after feeling overwhelmed.
Therapy was something I never thought I’d need. But here I was, sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Green’s office on Eighth Avenue, preparing to lay myself bare once again.
Each session cost three hundred dollars, but thankfully, Azzy and I had the cost covered through our student health insurance. Still, no amount of money could put a price on what it had given me—a lifeline, a place where I could unravel without judgment.
I had a great upbringing, filled with love and support, but even the best foundation wasn’t enough to shield me from the monsters in my mind. I struggled far more than anyone knew. A lot of it stemmed from Joshua—hell, I was pretty sure that was where most of it came from.
For a long time, I thought I was fine. Or at least managing. Until it all unraveled in front of the people I cared about most.
The day my parents, Aurora, and Azzy walked in on me breaking down was just the tip of the iceberg. They found me sobbing uncontrollably, struggling to breathe, consumed by the unbearable weight of my own existence. I wanted to disappear. The thought of enduring another day in my own skin felt impossible.
At first, I didn’t understand what was happening to me. The panic attacks. The overwhelming dread. The constant, racing thoughts that never let me rest. My mind was never quiet. Eventually, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), but even with a name for it, coping wasn’t easy. Some days, the anxiety was so loud in my head that I could hardly think straight. Other days, I felt like a ‘normally’ functioning human being.
I hated how I looked. I hated the way I was treated because of my body, my skin tone, my weight. The world never let me forget that I didn’t fit in. People told me to ignore it— “Don’t let their words affect you. ” But how could I not? Every snide remark, every cruel comment about my weight or complexion cut deeper than they realized. It wasn’t just about my looks; it became about who I was at my core.
A memory clawed its way to the surface, sharp and unrelenting.
I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, tears streaking down my face, hands gripping the sink until my knuckles turned white. Joshua’s voice rang in my ears, thick with disdain and casual cruelty.
“You need to take better care of yourself.”
“It’s just tough love.”
But it never felt like love. It felt like a slow, deliberate breaking of something inside me. I stared at my reflection, wondering if I would ever see myself as enough .
A sharp inhale pulled me back to the present. I swallowed hard, pushing past the lump in my throat as Dr. Green called me in.
Her name was displayed in crisp white vinyl on the glass door. Inside, the sterile scent of lavender and chamomile filled the air, but the warmth of the room softened its clinical edge. The sunlight poured in through wide windows, reflecting off the shelves lined with books and thriving green plants.
She sat poised in her usual chair, her green eyes kind yet probing. Her short blonde hair framed her elegant features, making her look as put together as always.
She gestured toward the sofa. “Abigail, it’s good to see you. Please, have a seat.”
I sank into the cushions, smoothing my hands over my lap. “I just wanted to update you on everything since I got here.”
Dr. Green nodded, her hands resting gently in her lap. “That’s something to be grateful for—being here and being alive. Tell me about your stay. How’s the city been treating you?”
I inhaled deeply. “It’s been good, really. I’m staying with Azzaria and Auntie Leann, and I haven’t done much except exams. Azzy and I went out the other night, but that’s about it. I took my last exam today—went better than I expected. I met with a realtor since I’m moving here, and got my nails done.”
A flicker of nostalgia crossed her face. “How’s Azzaria?”
“She’s okay. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
Dr. Green smiled faintly, though there was something else there—a quiet longing, maybe, to see Azzy heal, too. “I’d appreciate that. But now, let’s focus on you. It sounds like you’re making big changes, taking control of your life. But I want to know—are you feeling any pressure through all of this?”
I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Not with moving, at least. I’m actually excited for that. But…” I exhaled slowly. “I’m ending things with Joshua this weekend when I go back. ”
Dr. Green leaned in slightly, her expression gentle yet unwavering. “How are you feeling about that?”
I stared down at my hands, my fingers twisting together. “Relieved… and scared.”
She waited, letting me fill the silence on my own.
“For so long, I stayed because I thought that was what I deserved,” I admitted. “He was always good at making me believe that. But now… I don’t know. I’m afraid of being alone.”
The words hung between us.
“I know I don’t want to be with him anymore. But I also don’t want to be alone.”
It wasn’t just the loneliness itself—it was what it meant. Like I was slowly fading into the background, watching as everyone else had someone to pull them into focus. And I wanted that.
I wanted someone to see me.
Really see me.
Someone who looked at me like I was the only person in the room. The one whose thoughts they couldn’t wait to hear. The one whose mere existence lit up their world.
But I wasn’t sure I’d ever have that.
“I don’t love him anymore, and I can’t afford to lose any more time. Or worse—lose myself again.”
Dr. Green’s expression softened, her hands resting lightly on her notepad. “That’s something we’ve talked about before, Abigail—how you tend to put others before yourself, even when it hurts you. But this? This is growth. You’re finally prioritizing your well-being.”
I exhaled slowly, absorbing her words. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but she was right. For the first time in a long time, I was putting myself first. It was overdue, but better late than never.
“Thank you, Doc.”
“You’re so welcome.” A small, encouraging smile touched her lips. “Is there anything else you’d like us to talk about today? ”
I hesitated. The words formed in my throat but refused to come out. My fingers curled around the couch cushion, gripping the fabric like an anchor. No one knew. Not Azzy. Not anyone. And saying it out loud felt like giving it power.
But it already had power, didn’t it?
“There’s something I haven’t told you yet,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… embarrassing, but also terrifying.”
Dr. Green didn’t rush me. She never did. She just waited, her presence steady and grounding.
I swallowed hard. “Joshua has something on me. Something he’s been holding over my head for years.”
Concern flickered across her face. “What does he have?”
I forced myself to meet her gaze. “Videos. Pictures. He compiled them without my consent. Stitched together sexual moments I didn’t even know he recorded.” The lump in my throat swelled. “I don’t know if he’ll threaten to release them or just let the fear of it be enough.”
Dr. Green’s face remained calm, but I saw the subtle shift in her posture—the quiet fury behind her professional composure. “Abigail, I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she said gently. “What he’s done is a violation. If he releases them, he can be held accountable. Distributing intimate content without consent is a crime, and there are laws to protect you.”
My nails dug into the cushion. “It just makes me feel… powerless.”
“You are not powerless.” Her voice was firm but kind. “That’s what abusers want you to believe. But you have options. And you have people who will stand by you.”
I wanted to believe her. But fear had settled into my bones, deep and unmoving.
“Let’s try something,” she said, her tone soft but guiding. “Close your eyes. Count backward from ten.”
I did as she asked. “Ten… nine… eight…”
With each number, I focused on my breath, on the weight of my body against the couch, on the warmth of the room .
“Seven… six…”
The pressure in my chest began to ease, the sharp edges of panic dulling.
By the time I reached one, my breathing had steadied.
When I opened my eyes, the world hadn’t changed, but the storm inside me had quieted, just a little.
Dr. Green studied me for a moment before speaking again. “I know that fear doesn’t disappear overnight. But you are taking steps forward, and that matters.”
I nodded, shifting in my seat. The silence settled around us, thick but not suffocating this time. I let it sit for a moment before blurting out, “Do you think fate is real?”
Dr. Green blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “Fate?”
“I need a distraction,” I admitted. “Yes. Fate. Do you believe in it?”
She tapped her fingers lightly against her chair. “I believe there’s a reason for everything, but I’m not entirely sold on the idea of fate.”
I exhaled, steady now. “Three weeks ago, I was at the airport, crying, and a stranger comforted me. And then I saw him again at a club. And again, just the other day, at a bar. I don’t know if it means anything or if I’m just overthinking it.”
Dr. Green’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Well, that’s new.”
I huffed out a short laugh. “You don’t think it’s fate?”
She shrugged. “This is New York. People cross paths. But maybe instead of focusing on why it’s happening, you should focus on closing the Joshua chapter first.”
I nodded slowly. “You’re probably right. It’s nothing anyway.”
But deep down, I wasn’t so sure.
I left her office feeling lighter, like I’d finally put something down I’d been carrying for too long. Maybe life wasn’t just about endings—maybe it was about what came next.
Even if—though I seriously doubt it—it had anything to do with a stranger I met at the airport.