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Evan and I navigate the labyrinth of grief and recovery, and the penthouse becomes my retreat, the world outside forgotten. In these quiet moments, Evan proves to be my anchor, grounding me with his presence.
One afternoon, he walks in, holding two tickets. "A night out," he suggests, offering a gentle smile. "I think we could use it."
I hesitate. The thought of stepping out into the open is daunting, but I recognize the gesture for what it is - an olive branch, an attempt to find some semblance of normalcy. "Okay," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper.
Evan takes me to a serene rooftop restaurant, the skyline of New York providing the backdrop. It's quiet, intimate, perfect.
Over dinner, he reaches across the table, interlocking our fingers. "You've been so strong, Isabella," he begins. "I want you to know that I'm here, always. Dante is behind bars, but I understand if that isn't enough."
I look down, the weight of my feelings pressing down. "It's not only about Dante. It's the what-ifs, the possibilities we lost."
He nods, understanding in his eyes. "We'll take it one step at a time."
The evening is a turning point for us. We talk, really talk, about our feelings, fears, and hopes for the future. By the time dessert arrives, it feels as though a weight has lifted, replaced by a new understanding between us.
Our journey back to 'normal' isn't instantaneous, but moments like these pave the way, reminding us that love, patience, and understanding can heal even the deepest wounds.
***
Arriving back at the penthouse, I come to a realization. Heavy in thought, I whisper, "I think I need to reach out. Reconnect. I've been so... isolated."
Understanding fills Evan's eyes. "Who do you want to talk to?"
"Myra," I reply, taking a deep breath. "It's been months since I've seen her. I need to let her know I'm okay."
Evan nods, gently releasing my hands. "I'll give you some privacy."
Picking up the phone, I dial Myra's number. It only takes a few rings before her voice fills the line. "Izzy?"
"Hey, Myra," I respond, my voice quivering slightly. "It's been a while."
"I've been so worried about you," she admits, relief evident in her voice. "How are you holding up?"
With a sigh, I answer, "Every day is a step forward. The asshole is being charged with a slew of crimes, including assault and battery and manslaughter."
"Oh, my!" Myra gasps.
"Yes, it's been tough, but Evan has been incredible. I don't know what I would have done without him."
She chuckles lightly, "Sounds like you've found a good one."
I smile, "Yeah, I think I have."
After a few more minutes of catching up, I mention, "I think I'm ready to come back, Myra. Get my hair done, feel a little more like myself."
Her joy is appreciable. "Whenever you're ready, love. We'll make it a whole pampering day. You deserve it."
We say our goodbyes, and as I hang up, Evan returns with a questioning look.
"We're healing, Evan," I whisper. "Slowly, but we are."
He pulls me into a comforting embrace, and in that moment, I know we'll find our way.
Chapter twenty
The Gallery
Thepublicknowseverything—allof it. Our reputations are no longer up for debate, and my story is plastered everywhere for months. Even after I take a vacation, people still want to hear my first-hand experience from the very beginning. Going from place to place is exhausting, but being busy is good for me. It keeps me productive and my mind from wandering.
