Julian pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb brushing away tears from my cheek. “Good,” he says.
His lips find mine in the gentlest kiss we’ve ever shared. There’s no demand in it, no hunger or possession—just tenderness that makes my chest ache in an entirely new way. When we part, he presses his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us.
We stay like that for what feels like hours, trading soft kisses and whispered reassurances. Julian’s hands never stop their gentle caress along my back, my arms, through my hair. For the first time in a long time, I feel completely safe.
I waketo sunlight streaming through Julian’s bedroom windows, my body aching in places I didn’t know could hurt. For a moment, panic seizes me—am I still tied to that chair? But the silk sheets against my skin and Julian’s warm body beside me ground me in reality.
“Hey,” Julian whispers, his fingers gently brushing hair from my forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I croak, my throat still raw.
Julian helps me sit up against the headboard and hands me a glass of water. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I drink greedily, water spilling down my chin. “My mother?—”
“She’s at Ravenwood Psychiatric,” Julian says, his voice careful, measured. “Elliot, there’s something you should see. Only if you’re ready.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I am.
Julian retrieves his tablet and sits beside me on the bed, his arm a protective barrier between me and whatever horrors await on the screen. “I recorded everything when we came in. I thought you might need to see... to understand.”
The video plays, and I watch myself—bound, bloodied, exhausted—while my mother paces like a caged animal, screaming about demons possessing me. Her eyes are wild, unfocused, nothing like the controlled, cold woman who raised me.
“She’s been like this for years,” I whisper. “Not this bad, but... There were moments when I was growing up. Times when she’d go from perfectly calm to... something else.”
Julian pauses the video on an image of my mother’s contorted face. “The psychiatrist believes she’s been suffering from untreated paranoid schizophrenia, possibly for decades. Her religious beliefs became the framework for her delusions.”
A strange sense of relief washes over me, even as my stomach churns at the sight. “So it wasn’t just that she hated who I am. It wasn’t just bigotry or disappointment.” I take a shaky breath. “There was something actually broken in her mind.”
“Yes,” Julian says simply, setting the tablet aside and taking my hand.
“Is it terrible that knowing that makes me feel... lighter somehow?” I ask, tears welling in my eyes. “Like maybe it wasn’t my fault after all?”
Julian pulls me against his chest, and I can feel his heart beating steadily and strongly. “It was never your fault, Elliot. Never.”
“It doesn’t make it hurt less,” I say, wiping tears from my face, “but it explains a lot. The mood swings, the obsessive religious fixations, the way she’d sometimes stare at nothing for hours.” I pause, a sudden realization hitting me. “And maybealso why my dad left us. He never said why—just packed his bags when I was eight and never looked back.”
Julian’s hand strokes my back in slow circles. “Have you spoken to him since?”
“No. She always said he abandoned us, that he was weak. I believed her.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Another lie in a lifetime of them.”
Julian shifts slightly, reaching for a folder on the nightstand. “There’s something else you should know. Dr. Larson—the psychiatrist I called—has completed a comprehensive evaluation of your mother. She’s declared her a danger to herself and others, recommending immediate psychiatric commitment.”
I take the folder with trembling hands, skimming the clinical language that reduces my mother’s madness to symptoms and diagnoses.
“The judge agreed,” Julian continues. “After serving her criminal sentence for arson and kidnapping, she’ll be committed to Ravenwood Psychiatric Hospital for an indefinite period.”
“Indefinite?” I look up, uncertain how to feel about this.
Julian’s expression remains steady, resolute. “I’ve made sure it’s a facility where she’ll receive actual treatment. The best doctors and appropriate medication. But she won’t be released without extensive evaluation and clear evidence that she’s no longer a threat.”
“This isn’t just about what she did to me, is it?” I ask quietly.
“No,” Julian says, his voice firm. “It’s not just revenge, Elliot. It’s removing a genuine threat—to you, to others, even to herself. The person who burned down your gallery and kidnapped you isn’t suddenly going to get better with a few therapy sessions. She needs long-term professional help.”
I nod, letting his words sink in. My mother will be locked away, perhaps for the rest of her life.
Julian pulls me closer, his arms steady and secure around me. Something in his expression shifts, softens.
