Noted

Epilogue

Although I was permitted to complete my studies at NYU without my father's help (due to his prison sentence for murder), I never returned to work for The Times. Instead, I became a successful freelance journalist, selling my (at times; "controversial") articles to newspapers all around the United States.

I didn't go to prison after all, but my mother's lawyer got me to plea guilty for assault in the Second Degree and got me three months probation on house arrest including community service. I wasn't convicted for any further charges due to the type of drug Troy got were a lot stronger than we had anticipated, and the fact that I had no intention on physically hurting her or leading her towards death. Troy didn't get away free though, he got community service for drug possession. We were lucky to have had good lawyers, otherwise we would have gone to jail.

After looking into the face of death and surviving, and several broken bones, not to mention a heavy case of post traumatic stress disorder, I didn't want to ever look back on those few months of hell. I knew they'd always be somewhere in my mind, reminding me of what could've happened or what did. My therapist told me to get back on the horse, and I took the advice to heart. Day by day, I rebuilt my life and started to feel okay again.

After the legal proceedings, Troy and I moved in together into a cozy two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, in a quiet district that we felt would keep us both sane. It was a place where I reignited my passion for painting and expressing my sadness, or my joy, onto a canvas. But it was also quiet enough to write and research while Troy studied to become an English professor. We enjoyed our new life of just being together, cooking, living, dreaming, and often dancing around our minimalistic living room without any music playing. Or we just sat at either end of the couch, reading in silence while drinking a glass of wine. This was how I wanted my life to be. I just didn't know it until  one day I jumped off a waterfall.

The sense of security was something we both had to learn again, but simply having each other made it easier to move past our issues. I had to learn to trust people again. Trust my mother, trust my father, and even trust myself. The one person, however, I had no problem trusting, was Troy. We always made each other feel safe.

Throughout everything we had been through, Troy was my rock. From before the whole incident, to the final moments in court, he had remained at my side.

"Did you ever think this was how you'd spend your first few months of freedom?" I asked Troy, jokingly.

"Picking up garbage in central park?" he asked. "I do that on the weekends anyway."

"I'm being serious, at least you didn't have to wear a bracelet on your ankle for three months." I said, picking up an empty water bottle and placing into the garbage bag. "It's my first time being outside of the house in months and I just wanted to see you in a better place than this, doing something just for us."

"I am being serious." replied Troy, giving me a sincere smile. "If I'm going to be forced to do community service with anyone, it would be with you."

"So romantic," I said sarcastically. We both laughed.

"Hey, at least we still got each other." He added, inching closer, "I couldn't have asked for a better ending."

I flashed him a happy smile before replying; "Noted."