Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 21: Two Years Later
SLOANE
Two years since sentencing.
I barely recognize my old life.
I’m sitting in my condo.
Different condo now.
Bigger.
Two bedrooms.
One for me.
One for an office.
Still ocean view.
Still top floor.
Still mine.
Owen moved in six months ago.
We’re engaged.
Not married yet.
Taking it slow.
Learning to trust.
Learning to love without fear.
“Morning, beautiful,” he says, bringing me coffee.
“Morning.”
He kisses my forehead.
Simple. Sweet. Safe.
Everything my first marriage wasn’t.
Work is good.
I’m a senior architect now.
Running my own projects.
Managing a team.
Building things that last.
It feels like a metaphor.
Therapy is once a month now.
Dr. Morgan and I meet for check-ins.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. Really good, actually.”
“PTSD?”
“Still there. But manageable. I have tools now. Coping mechanisms.”
“Triggers?”
“Fewer. And when they happen, I can handle them.”
“That’s significant progress.”
“I know. I’m proud of myself.”
“You should be.”
I still speak at survivors’ conferences.
Twice a year.
Tell my story.
Help others find their voice.
Last month, a woman approached me after.
“You saved my life. I was going to end it. But hearing you speak… I realized I could survive too.”
I held her while she cried.
Gave her my number.
She’s in therapy now.
Getting help.
Surviving.
The Mitchell Act has led to twelve prosecutions so far.
Sexual assault by deception cases.
All convicted.
Rebecca keeps me updated.
“You changed the law. You changed lives.”
“I just told the truth.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
I haven’t heard from the twins in eighteen months.
Ethan stopped writing after I didn’t respond to his letters.
Everett’s intimidation letter was the last contact.
They’re both still in prison.
Ethan eligible for parole next year.
Everett not for another ten.
I try not to think about it.
But sometimes I do.
Late at night.
When Owen’s asleep and I’m alone with my thoughts.
I wonder if they’ve changed.
If prison reformed them.
Or if they’re just counting days until they can hurt someone else.
I got a letter from Vivian last month.
She visits them both.
Monthly.
Says Ethan is genuinely remorseful.
Working on himself.
Therapy. Education. Reflection.
Says Everett is… Everett.
Charming the guards.
Manipulating other inmates.
Planning his next move.
Some people don’t change.
Owen knows everything.
Every detail.
Every nightmare.
Every trigger.
He’s patient.
Understanding.
Never pushes.
“How do you do it?” I asked him once. “Deal with all my baggage?”
“It’s not baggage. It’s your story. And I love all of you. Including the parts that are still healing.”
I cried.
Happy tears, for once.
Today is special.
Two-year anniversary of sentencing.
I’m meeting Amanda and Cassidy for lunch.
Annual tradition we started.
Survivors’ lunch.
To celebrate still being alive.
Still fighting.
Still here.
We meet at Marina’s.
My favorite restaurant.
The one Ethan could never remember.
“Look at us,” Amanda says, raising her glass. “Still standing.”
“Still thriving,” Cassidy adds.
“To survival,” I say.
We clink glasses.
Amanda got married last year.
To a woman who knows her story and loves her anyway.
“Best decision I ever made. Being honest from the start. No secrets.”
Cassidy is in grad school.
Psychology.
Wants to help other survivors.
“You inspired me. All of us. To turn trauma into purpose.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Except: “Thank you.”
We talk about the twins.
Not obsessively.
Just… acknowledgment.
“Do you ever think about them?” Cassidy asks.
“Sometimes. Less now than before.”
“Do you hate them?”
“I did. For a long time. But hate takes energy. Energy I’d rather spend on myself.”
“So what do you feel?”
“Nothing. They’re just… people who hurt me once. People I’ll never see again. People who don’t matter.”
“That’s growth,” Amanda says.
“That’s survival.”
After lunch, I walk along the beach.
Alone.
Thinking.
Two years ago, I was broken.
Shattered.
Didn’t think I’d ever be whole again.
But here I am.
Whole-ish.
Not perfect.
Not healed completely.
But functional.
Happy, even.
My phone rings.
Rebecca.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to check in. Anniversary and all.”
“I’m good. Really good.”
“I’m glad. You’ve come so far.”
“We both have. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You could have. But I’m glad I was there.”
“Me too.”
That night, Owen proposes.
Again.
He proposed six months ago.
I said yes.
But we haven’t set a date.
Haven’t planned anything.
Just… existed in engagement limbo.
“I know you’re scared,” he says. “Of marriage. Of commitment. Of everything that comes with it.”
“I am.”
“But I’m not them. I’m me. And I choose you. Every single day. No games. No deception. Just love.”
“I know.”
“So let’s do it. Get married. Small ceremony. Just us and the people we love. Nothing fancy. Just real.”
I look at him.
This good, patient, real man.
Who knows my worst and loves me anyway.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Let’s get married. Small. Simple. Real.”
He kisses me.
And I don’t flinch.
Don’t check.
Don’t doubt.
Just kiss him back.
Trusting.
Finally.
We set a date.
Three months from now.
Beach ceremony.
Twenty people max.
No big production.
Just vows.
Commitment.
Choice.
I tell Dr. Morgan.
“How do you feel about it?”
“Terrified. Excited. Both.”
“That’s normal.”
“Is it? After everything?”
“Especially after everything. You’re choosing to trust again. To love again. That’s incredibly brave.”
“What if I’m making a mistake?”
“What if you’re not?”
I tell Jade.
She cries.
Happy tears.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“For what? Getting engaged?”
“For not letting them win. For choosing happiness. For being here.”
“I’m proud of me too.”
I tell Heath.
He grills Owen.
“You better treat her right.”
“I will.”
“You better not hurt her.”
“I won’t.”
“You better—”
“Heath,” I interrupt. “He’s good. I promise.”
Heath looks at me.
Really looks.
“You’re happy.”
“I am.”
“Okay then. Welcome to the family, Owen.”
That night, I go through my old files.
All the evidence from the case.
Photos. Documents. Testimonies.
I’ve kept it all.
In a box in my closet.
Not looking at it often.
Just… knowing it’s there.
Proof that it happened.
Proof that I survived.
I find the journal.
Ethan’s journal.
The one where he confessed to knowing.
I read it again.
All his guilt.
All his weakness.
All his apologies.
And I feel…
Nothing.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Just nothing.
He’s a stranger to me now.
Both of them are.
I put everything back in the box.
Seal it.
Label it: “THE PAST.”
And put it in storage.
Not throwing it away.
But not keeping it close either.
Just… acknowledging it exists.
Then moving on.
Three days later, I get a call.
Unknown number.
I almost don’t answer.
But I do.
“Sloane Mitchell?”
“Yes?”
“This is Officer Davies from California State Prison. I’m calling about Ethan Cole.”
My heart stops.
“What about him?”
“He’s requested a meeting. With you. Says he has something to tell you before his parole hearing.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“I understand. But he says it’s important. About Everett.”
“What about Everett?”
“He wouldn’t say. Just that you need to know before Everett’s transfer next month.”
“Transfer where?”
“Different facility. Higher security. There was an… incident.”
Of course there was.
Everett can’t help himself.
“I’ll think about it.”
“His parole hearing is in two weeks. If you want to meet, it needs to be before then.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I tell Owen.
“Do you want to see him?”
“No. But what if it’s important?”
“Then let the prison handle it.”
“What if it affects me? What if Everett’s planning something?”
“Then we call the police. Not visit him in prison.”
He’s right.
But I can’t shake the feeling.
What if Ethan knows something?
What if not knowing is worse than seeing him one last time?
I call Rebecca.
“Should I go?”
“That’s your choice. But if you do, I’m coming with you.”
“What could Ethan possibly have to tell me?”
“I don’t know. But if it’s about Everett being transferred for an incident, it might be serious.”
“Or it might be manipulation. One last game.”
“Possibly. But you won’t know unless you go.”
I decide.
One more time.
One last meeting.
Then I’m done.
Forever.
END OF CHAPTER 21
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