Chapter 35
Corine
The lights were soft, the windows tall and wide, letting in the golden wash of a late morning sun. The Vogue team had arrived almost an hour ago, settling in the corner of my penthouse living room with cameras, recorders, notepads, and lattes in hand. I was sitting across from the interviewer—Elena, sharp-eyed but gentle, dressed in understated luxury and a scent that reminded me of lavender and something faintly spicy.
"Corine," she said, voice warm but curious. "Thank you for letting us into your home. It's beautiful."
I gave a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Thank you. This place... it's my safe space now."
"And today," she continued, "you're sharing something deeply personal with our readers."
I took a slow breath. My palms were clammy. My heart raced—but I had promised myself I wouldn’t hide anymore. Not from the truth. Not from what happened.
"Yes," I nodded. "It’s the first time I’m speaking publicly about it. All of it."
Elena leaned forward slightly. "Where would you like to begin?"
I looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers nervously. My voice came out soft, shaky at first. "I was born with chronic psychosis. It was manageable when I was younger, under control with therapy and medication. But... things changed after I became a mother."
A pause.
"Changed how?"
"Astrid is one and a half now," I said, smiling despite the tremble in my chest. "And Kyle just turned four. They’re my everything. But after I gave birth to Kyle, it started. I began having more frequent episodes. Delusions. Nightmares that felt real. Voices I thought I had left behind. I thought I was just overwhelmed. Postpartum, maybe. But it wasn’t that simple."
I could feel tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I didn’t wipe them away.
"It got worse when I had Astrid. My psychosis spiraled. And in the middle of that... I found out that my husband was cheating."
Elena was quiet, but her eyes were filled with understanding.
"He had been having an affair," I whispered. "With someone I trusted. Natasha. We worked together. Modeled together. We laughed, traveled, talked about motherhood and marriages and love. And all that time, she was sleeping with Allen."
"How did you find out?"
I let out a bitter laugh. "To avoid anything... I would not talk about it"
Elena leaned in, her hand resting lightly on the notebook in her lap.
"All I can say is that I walked in on them. In a house completely different,but turns out that was supposed to be my dream home."
My voice cracked. I couldn’t help it.
"I lost it. I screamed, I cried, I felt like my chest would explode. I drove back and that night... Three months later,after divorce I tried to end it all. The voices became too much in my head,but my mom saw me before anything else and I think I scared my son for life because he was around. I am so sorry baby."
Silence fell between us, heavy and aching.
"I was admitted the next morning,and it was the best decision I chose because I wanted to be the best mom for my kids."
"To the facility?"
I nodded. "Yes. It was the lowest point of my life, and somehow... the beginning of a new one."
"Can you talk about that? Your time there?"
A tiny smile ghosted my lips. "It was hell at first. I was angry. At everyone. Myself, Allen, Natasha, God... I didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to live. And then... Tate, Sylvia and Brittany happened."
"Brittany? Do you mean the daughter of senator Ashford?" She asks but I decided to ignore it. It wasn't in my place to spill their secrets.
I exhaled a laugh. "She was this burst of color in a place that felt so grey. Sharp tongue, big heart. She just sat beside me one day and said, 'You’re too pretty to cry this ugly, get up and let’s go paint something.' I hadn’t spoken in days. But I laughed. And I followed her."
Elena chuckled gently.
"And then Sylvia—old as hell, wise like a nun. She told me to scream into a pillow instead of the void. I still do that sometimes. And Tate... he was just this quiet soul who wrote poetry about clouds and grief. He helped me write again. They became my family."
I paused.
"And they saved me."
Elena scribbled something down. "You’re incredibly brave, Corine."
"I don’t know if I’d say brave," I said, staring out the window. "Maybe just... tired of pretending I was okay when I wasn’t."
"Do you still struggle with your mental health now?"
"Every day," I said, turning back to her. "Some days are good. Some days I wake up and the world is soft. My kids laugh, the coffee is strong, and I can smile without trying. Other days... I still hear things. I still feel the panic sit on my chest. But I fight. I fight because Astrid calls me 'mama' in the sweetest little voice, and Kyle tells me I’m his best friend. I fight because they need me to, and maybe... I need me too."
There was a long pause. Elena’s eyes were glossy.
"What would you say to someone out there... struggling the way you did?"
I swallowed hard. "Don’t hide. Don’t let shame keep you in silence. I know it feels like you’re broken. But you’re not. You’re hurting. And there’s a difference. And most of all—you are not alone."
She clicked her pen off and set it down. "That was beautiful. Raw. I think you’re going to help a lot of people today."
I looked toward the kitchen, where a framed photo of Kyle and Astrid sat beside a jar of flowers Brittany brought over yesterday.
"That’s all I want," I said. "To help someone not feel as alone as I did."
And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new. Not the spotlight, not the cover of Vogue—but the courage to be seen, exactly as I was. Flawed, fractured, healing—and finally, speaking the truth.
No more pretending.
Just me.