𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 [𝟏𝟖+] ✔

Epilogue

"Doctor Aria Miller, this year's James Spence's medal recipient, is being recognized for her outstanding work and contributions in the fields of paediatric medicine, genetic science, and her exceptional research in collaboration with NORD. And most recently, she founded a charity which focuses on mental health awareness. She worked extensively on the discovery of new genetic mutations that affect the mitochondria. By doing this, not only has she generated more jobs for researching but has saved thousands of lives around the world."

Clapping, a lot of it, fills my ears. I straighten my pencil skirt, taking deep breaths while I stare at my fingers twisting in my lap. A hand curls around them, tightening, running his thumb over my skin in a comforting manner. "You've got this. I'm so proud of you," Ewan tells me, pressing his lips to my temple as Doctor Shique continues speaking to the hundreds of people in the dark theatre hall.

"She had been relentless with her research, month after month, year after year, she worked harder, harder than I had ever seen anyone work, only to be told no, over and over again. Did that stop her from going on to create the new Gemgene trials? No, of course it didn't."

Each time the crowd surrounding us breaks into applause, my heart beats faster. Perspiration forms along my forehead, the room growing far too hot as I listen to him praising me while everyone listens in silence.

"I've had the pleasure of working alongside Doctor Miller for many years now, and when I tell you that she is a fighter, incredibly determined, and an inspiration to survivors all over the United Nation, I mean it."

The room grows silent, and I squeeze Ewan's hand, my nails digging into his palm, resisting the urge to get up and run for the hills to hide. "I can't stand up in front of all these people."

Anxiety riddles me, daily, to a point that I've not gotten up on a stage and spoken in years. Sure, I've sat in busy meeting rooms week after week, but only after hours of hyperventilating and usually resulted in me bringing my guts up in the toilet once finished.

But this, this moment, with hundreds of eyes on me, I don't think I can do it.

I go to therapy regularly, every single week, as I have since that horrific night, practising different methods to help me relax when my mind is on fire. I haven't touched alcohol in years, I don't need it, Lu and Kade definitely don't need their mum drunk every night. Even if the urge is there, I won't.

"I'll be proud of you either way," Ewan says, lacing his fingers in mine. "But as soon as we get home, I'm ripping that skirt off you." His mouth is close to my ear, and I clench my thighs. "That's a promise."

I smirk and slap his torso as my eyes flit to Jason, the sixteen-year-old with an attitude who, thankfully, doesn't hear his dad's crude statement. My hand momentarily trails the outline of the deep scar on Ewan's chest, the one he kept hidden for years before finally letting me trace my fingertips along, kissing it, telling him that he should embrace the fact that he survived that torturous night five years ago.