Page 153 of When Hearts Awaken

Sometimes, there is no logic, no reason our brains can grab onto. I’ll drive myself crazy if I keep searching for the whys and what-ifs. The anger and grief will tear me apart and steal what’s left of my time on this earth.

Yes, it’s true. If Charles had ignored his company’s hostile takeover, maybe he would’ve made it to Alexis on time.

Or maybe not. We simply wouldn’t know.

And if he did, would I have gotten better sooner? The trauma had already happened and was carved deeply into my chest. Nothing would change that.

So the answer is the same. Maybe. Maybe not. I have a feeling, either way, it would’ve been a long road to recovery for me. Nothing could shortcut that.

But meeting him now, after clawing my way back on my own—shiny black feathers and all—I realize the timing was right. I couldn’t have moved forward with him, with love, until I’d taken this journey alone.

And in this moment, I realize I understand what Mom was trying to tell me back then, all those years ago on the subway. The black swan was a survivor, her strength far surpassing her sister because she had been through the trials of life and came out the other side.

I’ve spent my life trying to run away from the black swan, thinking her feathers are ugly. Stained. Corrupted. But they aren’t. They are beautiful badges of honor—medals decorating war heroes. Black absorbs all colors and doesn’t easily fade. It’s resilient and embodies strength.

Without darkness, there is no light.

Without my past, the present me wouldn’t exist, the version of me that knows I’m strong enough to withstand whatever life throws at me in the future.

Because I’m a warrior. A fighter.

I’m the black swan.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

Dev joins me onthe ground in the death pose.

I can feel the audience’s attention on us, the enormous space completely silent during the last scene of our last encore performance ofSwan Lake.

We were supposed to perform at the Met Opera for one last time two months ago, but the show was so successful, they extended it for a few more months. Normally, the curtains will close now, signaling the end of the ballet, the tragic love story of Odette, the beautiful white swan, and her Prince Siegfried.

But no.

Not this time.

I asked Lisa a month ago for an appointment to meet with her father and the rest of the board members. I told them I had an idea on how to shine a positive light on ABTC after Ian’s involvement in mine and Maddy’s assaults were disclosed to the public.

Ian ended up confessing once his team learned about the video Alexis had made. It was a smart move, because it closed the case faster, keeping him out of the limelight, no doubt for self-preservation.

Who knows if The Association will let him live?

The public rallied around Bank of Columbia’s stock, the press spinning stories of how Charles Vaughn protected his girlfriend from a rapist, how he was a man of honor who cared about the truth and valued that over his family ties. From what he told me, he recently hired a strong CFO working under him now and they were getting back on track. Charles’s parents are no-shows, as always. They visited Alexis in the hospital only two times. Charles is livid, but resigned—he’s making peace with his dysfunctional family now that he and Liam are close again.

Things have been more chaotic at ABTC, since we’re now without an artistic director. The board has been interviewing to fulfill the much needed position, but in the meantime, tickets to the show have been sold out.

I guess the public wants to see me, the poster child of assault survivors.

Tonight, on the last show ofSwan Lake,I want to tell Mom’s version of the story she never finished telling me before she died.

I know what the ending should be now.

The hidden happily ever after beneath the tragedy.

The board approved of the plan and here I am, laying on the stage with Dev as the corps de ballet surround us, the other beautiful white swans forming a circle, blocking us from the view of the audience.

Dev and I quickly dart out from the back of the circle, where makeup and costume staff greet me, changing me into a specially crafted costume—the softest, most beautiful tutu I’ve ever seen, the right side black, the left side white. Crystals adorn the bodice and the silkiest ribbons drape from the waist. The makeup artist draws on a thick black liner on the right side of my face, and applies a dark purple rouge to half of my lips so that half of me is Odile, the black swan, and the other half is Odette, the white swan.

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