Page 182 of The Ache That Stayed

Because I wasn’t broken anymore. I wasn’t untouched, and I wasn’t free from every scar. But I was whole in a way I’d never been before. Not because the damage disappeared. But because I stopped believing it made me unworthy of love.

Some wounds closed. Others became the ache that stayed.

Julian studied me for another second before speaking.

“I think our official sessions may be coming to an end.”

I felt an unexpected tightness in my chest, something closer to grief. The strange sadness that comes from realising you no longer need the place that once helped keep you alive.

Because this office had witnessed versions of me I could barely recognise now.

The woman who could barely say certain words aloud.

The woman who mistook numbness for strength.

And the woman who believed love was something she had to survive instead of something she was allowed to keep.

“You’ll still call if things get bad?” he asked.

I smiled faintly. “You say that like you think I attract chaos.”

“I think chaos follows you home voluntarily.”

I laughed then. Fully this time. And God—that alone felt like proof I’d come further than I ever thought I would.

Julian walked me out the door. When we stepped outside, the evening air brushed gently against my skin. I took a few steps before I stopped and looked back at him.

“There’s something I never said properly.”

His brow lifted slightly.

“You helped me remember that surviving isn’t the same thing as living.”

For the first time, a crack appeared in Julian’s composure.

“You did that part yourself, Roxanne.”

Emotion tightened unexpectedly in my throat. Before I could overthink it, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him briefly.

Julian went still for half a second—like physical affection still caught him off guard—before his hand settled carefully between my shoulder blades. Brief. Controlled. Yet the restraint behind it made the affection feel even heavier.

When I pulled back, an unreadable look crossed his face before composure settled over him once more.

“Take care of yourself, Roxanne.”

A smile pulled at my mouth. “You too, Julian.”

“Our monthly lunch dates still stand,” I said lightly as I pulled back.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

“Of course. Someone has to supervise your life choices.”

I rolled my eyes and waved him goodbye.

A black car waited at the curb below. And even from here, I could already see them. Marcello leaning against the driver’s side door, sleeves rolled to his forearms, composed as ever.

Santino sprawled carelessly across the hood beside him, smoking a cigarette he absolutely promised me he’d quit two months ago.