Epilogue

Julian found the diary three weeks later.

It was small enough to fit in his palm, a tiny stack of paper scraps she’d make into a book no bigger than a matchbox, tucked behind the toy box they kept some of her practical things in. He had been cleaning her little shelf when he noticed it. Curious, he opened it.

The handwriting was tiny, careful, and unmistakably hers.

Day 2

He bathed me in the sink tonight. The water was warm. He used his fingers to wash my hair. I didn’t have to do anything. I just let him.

Julian smiled faintly and turned the page.

Day 9

He took me outside for the first time, to the grocery store, in his shirt pocket. I could feel his heartbeat against my back the whole time. I didn’t speak once. I didn’t need to.

Another page.

Day 17

Another box came in the mail, new clothes we picked out online. Finally, the perfect size. One little white dress with tiny blue flowers made me especially happy when he dressed me in it. I never really liked flowers. I do now.

Julian’s thumb brushed over the page. He kept reading.

Day 20

I don’t think about my old life anymore. Not really. Sometimes I remember that I used to have a job, and other things I’ve forgotten now, but it feels like a story someone else told me once.

He turned to the final page.

There were only a few lines.

I used to be afraid that if I gave him everything, I would disappear.
I was wrong.
I didn’t disappear.

I became exactly what I was always meant to be.

Julian stared at the last sentence for a long time.

Then he read the final line, the one she had written in smaller letters than the rest, as if it were a secret she was still learning how to say out loud:

Even if there were a cure… I wouldn’t take it.

He closed the diary gently and placed it back exactly where he had found it.

Commissions.