EPILOGUE #3
The therapist’s office didn't smell like a hospital; it smelled like rich eucalyptus, expensive leather, and old books. It was a quiet, soundproof sanctuary suspended high above the roaring traffic of Midtown, a place where the noise of the world was systematically filtered out.
Dr. Sharon Hall sat across from me in a minimalist velvet armchair, a vintage fountain pen resting loosely between her fingers. She didn't wear glasses, but her eyes had a terrifying, laser-focused precision that made me feel like she could read the fine print written on my subconscious.
"You're tracking remarkably well today, Miley," Dr. Hall said, her voice a calm, even melody that instantly slowed my racing pulse. "Your posture is relaxed, your breathing is deep. Let's talk about the breakthrough from last week. How are things shifting in the penthouse?"
I shifted on the leather sofa, looking down at the immaculate cut of my trousers.
"It’s good. Me and Angela... we’ve been building something real.
We aren't just roommates splitting the bills Helisa takes care of. We’re...
we’re together. As actual..." I paused, the air catching in my throat, a sudden, familiar wall of pure resistance slamming down inside my mind.
Dr. Hall leaned forward slightly, her pen remaining perfectly still. "As actual what, Miley? Say the word."
"Lovers," I forced out, the syllables feeling heavy, awkward, and entirely unnatural on my tongue.
I shook my head, my box braids clacking softly.
"Man, I straight up hate that word, Dr. Hall.
You know that. It sounds too fragile. Too exposed.
It sounds like something that can be broken by a single bad day. "
"You don't hate the word because of how it sounds, Miley," Dr. Hall countered gently, her eyes holding mine with an unyielding, professional kindness.
"You hate the word because of what it represents in your historical timeline.
In your mind, the moment you label someone as your lover, a timer starts ticking.
Alicia. Terra. Your subconscious has created a morbid, mathematically faulty equation: My love equals their destruction. "
A cold knot of old, familiar grief tightened in my stomach. I leaned back against the cushions, looking up at the ceiling.
"Can you blame me, though? First it was Alicia back in college.
She hung herself from that ceiling fan because I straight up wouldn't forgive her for sleeping with Maxine.
Because I held that grudge, because I denied her my forgiveness, my affection, my warmth, and my embrace, she felt like she couldn't live another day.
She ended her own life because she couldn't exist without me in her world.
I spent years carrying that ash, believing my stubbornness killed her.
And then, the exact second I finally let my guard down again, the exact second I gave my heart to Terra...
Malik steps onto the sidewalk with a silver piece and drops her in broad daylight.
She died screaming my name, Dr. Hall. My love didn't just fail them; it felt like a straight-up death sentence. "
"Malik didn't shoot Terra because your love is a curse, Miley," Dr. Hall said, her voice carrying a sharp, direct authority that cut through my self-pity.
"Malik shot Terra because he is a violent, fragile narcissist who chose to commit murder.
You are entirely displacing the agency of a monster and placing it onto your own heart.
It is a defense mechanism. If you convince yourself that you are a 'curse,' then you have an excuse to never fully open up to Angela.
You get to keep one foot out the door to 'protect' her. "
I closed my eyes, the raw honesty of her words hitting me like a physical blow.
"Angela has been there through thick and thin, through the absolute ugliest parts of my grief. When I was screaming into the pillows at three in the morning, she was the one holding my waist. She’s someone special to me, Doc.
I don't want to keep a foot out the door. "
"Then stop being so morbidly obsessed with loss," Dr. Hall said, deliberately using the stark, heavy language to make it sink in.
"You have a life completely full of people who still love you.
Helisa, Ciara, Gabriel, Kelly, Angela...
you are surrounded by an unbreakable fortress of affection.
I know you hate that word, Miley, but I am going to keep using it until it becomes completely normalized in your subconscious.
Until you stop expressing aversion to the very thing that is saving your life. "
I let out a long, ragged exhalation, the tight band around my chest finally beginning to loosen, letting the warm light of the afternoon filter back into my mind. I opened my eyes, looking at Dr. Hall with a faint, weary smile. "You really don't let me get away with anything, do you?"
"Not at these rates, Miley," Dr. Hall smiled warmly, capping her fountain pen. "Now go. Go into the sun. Go live in the moments you’ve fought so hard to earn."
The next day:
The air in Central Park felt different today. It was warm, sweet, and thick with the scent of blooming hot-pink azaleas and freshly cut grass. The drone of Midtown traffic was a distant, harmless hum beyond the heavy canopy of the willow trees.
I strolled down the dirt path, my hand slipping easily into Angela’s as we navigated the afternoon crowd. We found our usual spot—a wide, smooth patch of deep green grass shielded by the sprawling branches of an ancient elm tree.
"Look who’s already ruling the kingdom," Angela chuckled, pointing down at the plaid picnic blanket we had laid out.
Max, the white tabby cat, was stretched out in a perfect, lazy line across the center of the blanket, his belly exposed to the warm sun, his paws twitching in a deep dream.
I dropped down onto the grass beside him, my fingers immediately finding the soft, familiar fur behind his ears.
Max let out a low, instantaneous purr that vibrated right through the blanket, a comforting, domestic rhythm that made the last remnants of my therapy session melt away.
"Man, this little guy has it made," I laughed, leaning back on one elbow as Angela sat down beside me, smoothing her sundress over her knees. "He doesn't have to worry about encryption protocols, regional metrics, or psychological conditioning. He just needs a patch of sun and some premium tuna."
"Don't act like you don't envy him," Angela teased, her eyes sparkling under the soft light. "You’ve been checking your corporate emails every twenty minutes since we left the office."
"That’s a lie, real talk!" I shot back, throwing a loose blade of grass at her vest. "I haven't touched my phone in at least thirty minutes. I am fully living in the moment, just like Dr. Hall ordered."
"Yo! Look at the executives trying to act like regular civilians!" a loud, booming voice shouted from across the path.
I looked up and felt a surge of pure, unadulterated joy hit my chest. Gabriel was sauntering across the grass, his athletic frame silhouetted against the bright sun, a massive, ridiculous grin plastered across his face.
Beside him was Kelly, her hair rocking a fresh set of braids, her laugh ringing out before she even reached the blanket.
They were both holding massive, melting waffle cones from the brightly colored ice cream truck parked near the path.
"Gabriel! Kelly!" I yelled, sitting up completely as they dropped onto the edge of the blanket, Max barely even opening one eye to acknowledge the intrusion. "Man, what are you guys doing uptown? I thought you were locked in at the downtown studio today."
"Please," Kelly scoffed, wiping a drip of mint chocolate chip from her knuckle.
"Gabriel was losing his mind trying to mix that track, so I told him we needed a tactical retreat.
We saw your SUV in the outer lot and knew exactly where to find you guys.
Angela, tell me this girl isn't talking about work on a Saturday. "
"She’s trying her best," Angela laughed, her voice clear, confident, and entirely connected to the circle.
Watching her chop it up with them was a beautiful, ongoing miracle.
The quiet, isolated girl Monica had introduced me to on that first day at her crib was gone, replaced by a woman who belonged to this chosen family just as much as I did.
"We ain't talking about work today," Gabriel said, his deep, raspy voice filled with an easy, infectious warmth as he reached down to ruffle Max’s fur.
"We’re celebrating. The D.A. confirmed the transfer paperwork this morning, Miley.
Malik is officially being moved to the maximum-security facility upstate tomorrow.
The door is locked. The key melted for that bitch-ass nigga. "
An absolute, clean silence settled over the four of us—a silence that didn't feel heavy or full of dread anymore, but light, triumphant, and completely anchored in survival. We sat there under the willow tree, cracking jokes, stealing bites of each other’s ice cream, and just letting the simple, unscripted beauty of the afternoon wash over us.
We were the ones who had made it through the fire, and right now, the grass beneath us felt like the safest place on earth.
As the afternoon began to bleed into a soft, golden twilight, Gabriel and Kelly wandered off toward the lake, their distant laughter echoing across the water as they chased a flock of ducks, leaving me and Angela alone on the blanket. Max had curled himself into a tight, sleeping ball near my hip.
The shadows grew long and blue across the grass.
I sat with my knees pulled up to my chest, my eyes tracking the ripple of the wind across the park pond.
The conversation about Malik’s transfer had left a quiet, reflective echo in my mind—not a painful one, but a deep, resonant reminder of the distance we had traveled.