Page 216 of Perfect
I promised to give her whatever she wants, and I know what Alex wants more than anything is to be safe and happy. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to threaten or hurt anyone who jeopardizes her safety or happiness, but I don't need to send those photos to anyone else.
I already sent them to Danny's family.
62
EPILOGUE
DR. MELISSA MILLS
ONE YEAR LATER
SATURDAY, JULY 25
“Okay, buddy, that’s enough out ofyou,” Kayla chastises gently as she picks a crying Henry up off the ground and carries him out of the small grocery store as he starts wailing louder. June looks on the verge of tears as she watches them.
“Mom, I’m so fucking tired,” she says, rubbing her hand over her protruding baby bump. “I don’t know how Kayla did this last time.”
“Kayla didn’t have a teething toddler to contend with,” I say gently, rubbing her back. “She also had a much easier pregnancy. You’ve got this, Junie.” She sighs, pressing one hand over her eyes and blowing out a thin stream of air.
“Can you please finish shopping? We’ll be outside.” She hands me her basket and follows her wife and son. I bend down and grab the chocolate bar Henry wanted before wandering the aisles, looking for what we’ll need for the week.
It’s a small store, and it doesn’t take long to turn down the last aisle. I reach for the oat milk without looking up from the grocery list, and my hand knocks against someone else’s.
I glance up to see a short young woman in an oversized University of Oregon sweater.
“Sorry,” she says in a bright, bubbly voice, “I was looking at my phone.” She waves the phone in her hand before she slips it in her back pocket, giving me a small, friendly smile as she gestures at the oat milk. “You can take it.” I look at the lone carton and back at her, sighing in relief.
“Would you mind? My daughter is vegan, andpregnant, and she hates every other type of alternative milk.”
“It’s all hers,” the woman says warmly, and I smile at her as I slip the carton into my basket.
“Thank you so much. I know she’ll appreciate it.” She nods, grabbing a carton of almond milk instead.
She looks familiar, somehow, but I’m not sure where I’d know her from. I glance at her sweater. Maybe I’ve seen her around campus?
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you go to U of O? You look familiar – maybe you work there? I lecture in thepsychology department occasionally.” The woman glances down at the sweater and shrugs.
“No, I just love this sweater.” Her smile broadens, then softens as she looks at me closely. “You look familiar, too, actually. I’m Alex,” she says, offering her hand. I reach out to take her hand, and it hits me exactly where I know her from.
She looks so different that it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize her at first. Her stylishly cut hair is a warm blonde now, her oval face is fuller and rosy, no longer gaunt and pale, and her posture is straighter, her shoulders lower and no longer curved in on themselves. She’s relaxed and happy, and an entirely different person than the woman I watched testify.
I wonder how Theodore is doing.
I’ve thought about them on and off over the last two years. I should have known better than to get so emotionally involved, but I've always been hopeful that having Theodore’s parole revoked allowed Alex to escape him.
It wasn't the right choice to make, and with how hard he worked to have my license revoked, it almost cost me everything, but now I feel that I might have been right to do it.
“Hi, Alex. It’s so nice to see you again.” She looks at my face for a long moment before the wave of recognition crashes over her, and she looks stunned. She recovers quickly, arranging her face into a tight smile as she glances away from me briefly.
“Hi, Dr. Mills. Um, how are you?”
“I’m doing well, thank you. How have things been going? If you don’t mind me saying this, you seem different. You seemhappy.” She blinks, taken aback, but her face relaxes back into a warm, friendly smile after a moment.
“Things are good, and I’m really happy now,” she says softly, a sweet smile on her face. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“That’s so wonderful to hear. Do you live here now?”
“No, I’m just here for the weekend. What about you?”
