Page 104 of The Misfit

“Even if choosing myself means breaking both our hearts?” I smooth my gloves back into place, trying to find stability in the familiar gesture. “Even if there’s still the engagement gala coming up—the last thing I promised him, the final piece of our arrangement?”

“Tell me about that.” She catches the conflict in my voice. “About the gala.”

“It’s soon.” My throat tightens. “His sister’s engagement announcement. The whole Sterling family will be there, and all of society will be watching. I promised I’d see this through, be there for him one last time. Give him …” I trail off, realizing what I’m really doing.

“Give him what, Salem?”

“One last chance.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “One last opportunity to prove me wrong. To show me he’s not going to become another Chelsea. To convince me that staying wouldn’t mean watching someone else I love fade away drink by drink.”

Dr. Martinez studies me for a moment. “And if he doesn’t take that chance? If he shows up drunk, retreats into bourbon again?”

“Then I walk away.” The certainty in my voice surprises us both. “Then I keep these silk gloves as a reminder that some love stories end before they really begin. Then I …” My voice cracks. “Then I choose myself over watching history repeat itself.”

“That’s incredibly brave,” she says softly. “Recognizing your limits, setting boundaries, being willing to walk away—that’s not something the Salem I first met could have done.”

She’s right. The girl who came to her after Chelsea, drowning in guilt and nitrile gloves, couldn’t have made this choice. Couldn’t have recognized when love becomes destruction. Couldn’t have found the strength to save herself instead of trying to save everyone else.

“I just wish …” I stop, fighting tears again.

“Wish what?”

“Wish loving him was enough.” The admission hurts. “Wish I could save him like I couldn’t save Chelsea. Wish I didn’t have to choose between watching him destroy himself or walking away while I still can.”

“But you know that’s not how it works,” she reminds me gently. “People have to want to save themselves. Have to choose their own healing. Have to fight their own demons.”

“I know.” And I do know, even if knowing feels like swallowing glass. “I’ll give him the gala. One last night. One last chance. And then …”

“And then?”

“And then I choose myself.” I look down at my silk-covered hands. “Even if choosing myself means letting him go.”

“Tell me about your family.” Dr. Martinez shifts topics, knowing when I need a break from heavier truths. “How have they been handling your relationship with Lee?”

“They don’t really know him,” I admit, shame coloring my voice. “I’ve only let him meet Noah. I couldn’t … couldn’t bring him home the way he was at the photo shoot. Couldn’t let my parents see him drinking, retreating, becoming something darker.”

“Noah knows him, though?”

“Noah saw him at his best in the beginning. Saw how he helped me feel safer, how he understood my patterns, how he made everything make sense.” I twist my gloved fingers together. “But lately, even Noah’s noticed the change. Keeps asking if I’m okay, if Lee’s okay, if everything’s …”

“If everything’s what?”

“If everything’s turning into another Chelsea situation.” The words come out barely above a whisper. “Mom and Dad … they worked so hard to help me after Chelsea. The hospital bills, the therapy, the endless patience while I learned to exist in the world again. I can’t …” I swallow hard. “I can’t let them watch me go through losing someone else like that.”

Dr. Martinez lets that settle before asking, “And what does Noah think about the gala?”

“He offered to pick me up after. Said he’d be on standby in case …” My voice cracks. “In case Lee proves me right instead of wrong. In case I need an escape route. In case this really is the end.”

“Your brother loves you very much.”

“Yes.” Tears blur my vision again. “He’s the only one who really understands why I have to do this. Why I have to give Lee this one last chance, but also why I have to be ready to walk away.” What I don’t say is how much that will kill me and how I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back on track afterward.

“And are you?” she asks gently. “Ready?”

I look down at my silk-covered hands, at the gloves Lee chose with such care, at everything they represent about who we were and who we’re becoming.

“I have to be.” My voice steadies. “I’ll go to the gala. I’ll give him this last chance. I’ll pray he proves me wrong, that he shows up sober and present and real.” I meet her eyes. “But if he doesn’t …”

“Go on.”

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