Page 83 of See Me After Class

My heart was swelling. I felt like a fool, but not in a shameful way.

His words, simple and heartfelt, cracked through the wall of isolation I had built around myself. The tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the firelight and John's warm gaze. I reached out, my hand trembling, and he took it in his, his force grounding me like a steady lighthouse in a storm.

"Thank you,"I choked out, the words thick with gratitude and a vulnerability I rarely allowed myself to show. "All of you."

Viktor finally stirred, his gruff voice softer than I'd ever heard. "Dessie, all things considered, you could've been a hell of a lot worse."

I blinked, startled. John chuckled, a low rumble that warmed the room. "Viktor's right. You played a dangerous game, but you played it damn well. And you won."

"Not entirely," I admitted, my throat tight. "I lost him, Oswald. And my trust…"

Viktor snorted. "Listen," he said, his eyes shining tenderly. "I've assessed the situation, analyzed my emotional state, and come to a definitive conclusion."

A nervous giggle escaped my lips. "Okay, I'm listening. Also, are you a little drunk?"

He smirked, the scar on his cheek crinkling. "Nope, stone sober. And madly, fiercely in love with you, Dessie Gardner."

My breath hitched.

"He's not the only one," Leon said, shuffling his feet nervously. "I never thought I'd say it in this life, but you bring out a goodness in me, Ms. Gardner. Something I didn't think existed."

John looked into my eyes. "I think it's evident where we are going with this, Ms. Desdemona Cassandra Miller Gardner." He smiled gruffly. "We love you. We want to see where this goes if, of course, you're willing to do the same."

Tears streamed down my face, not this time from guilt, but from love so overwhelming it threatened to burst my chest. "I don't… I don't deserve this," I stammered, my voice thick with emotion.

You more than deserve it, Dessie," John countered firmly. "You went to hell and back for love, girl. And here's the thing about the trenches, Dessie—it's not the going that defines you, it's the loving you do while you're down there, grappling with the worst of it. You fought tooth and nail because Oswald deserved better. That's not madness, that's a damn compass pointing true north."

His words, blunt as they were, pierced through the haze of doubt clouding my mind. My actions, reckless and desperate, weren't born of insanity but of a fierce, unwavering desire to give a man what he was due.

"The way you loved him, Dessie," Leon chimed in, his voice husky with admiration, "the way you faced down monsters for him… that's the kind of love we dream of. The kind that makes you walk through fire and come out singing."

Viktor remained silent, but his gaze, intense and unyielding, spoke volumes. It was a silent validation.

And there, at that moment, I finally found a semblance of peace. My arms ached to hold them all. I got out of bed and stood, wobbling slightly. John pulled me into a tight embrace.

"Hey, group hug," Leon interjected. He and Viktor joined in, enveloping me. I breathed quietly, surrounded by the love I never thought I'd find. I knew that home wasn't a place but a feeling, and finally, finally, I was home.

"You guys aren't morons after all," I declared, voice muffled against the comforting roughness of John's coat.

EPILOGUE

Dessie

The white walls of the Stonemoor Institution, one of the most renowned in the States for the criminally insane, pressed in on me, stifling and cold. Even the sparse light struggling through barred windows seemed diluted, bereft of warmth.

Ms. Wainwright sat in a wicker armchair, a picture of genteel composure, as if the accusations, the trials, were mere theatrical distractions.

My fingers itched to rip through that façade, to tear away the lies and reveal the monster beneath. But I took a deep breath, my voice steely when I spoke. "So, you seem to have done quite well for yourself. How does it feel knowing you're never going to get the revenge you wanted? You had to kill Oswald to validate yourself, but did it give you anything worthwhile?"

Her smile, fragile as spun glass, didn't falter. "My dear Dessie, always so dramatic. One must take one's bows, wouldn't you agree?"

"Your curtain's fallen, Ms. Wainwright. And beneath it, all that remains is a web of deceit."

My words, sharp as blades, seemed to prick through her composure. A flicker of fear, fleeting but palpable, crossed her eyes. I pressed on, relishing the justice dancing on the edge of my tongue.

"Your little scheme? Unraveled. The stolen funds? Restored. Oswald's legacy? Honored, as he intended."

Her hands, once so steady, trembled in her lap. "I hear you've written a book."

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