Page 138 of Rescuing Mia

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t live my life in hiding forever.”

We spend what feels like hours discussing the pros and cons. Each argument bounces back and forth in my mind, making the decision even harder, but deep down, I know what I need to do.

“I want to do this,” I finally say, my voice steady. “I want to reclaim my life. Red Phoenix Pharmaceuticals has taken enough.”

“Then, we’ll do it.” Rigel nods, his expression resolute.

I love how he says it.

Not, “Then you’ll do it,” but rather, “We’ll do it.”

It’s only one of a thousand ways he tells me he loves me.

He pulls me into a tight embrace, and I rest my head against his chest, feeling his strength and support. No matter what happens, this man will be by my side.

The next few days are a blur of medical consultations and psychological evaluations.

The doctors explain the procedure in detail, making sure I understand every step. Each consultation brings a strange mix of heart palpitations and a strange sense of hope.

Like a new beginning.

Not only is Rigel with me every step of the way, but his presence is a constant source of comfort. Skye is there to translate the medical jargon and make sure I ask the right questions.

That I truly understand what this operation will do.

I hate that it’s an option. I hate that Sentinel, through the Citadel, used facial reconstruction to steal the identities of those they trafficked through their organization.

I can’t imagine being kidnapped, let alone having my entire identity taken from me. It’s going to be hard enough for me, and I’m making this choice willingly.

Somewhat willingly.

Rigel and I talk late into the night about our future, our hopes, and our dreams. Despite the fear and uncertainty, there’s a growing sense of anticipation. This surgery is a chance for a new beginning, and I’m determined to embrace it.

The dayof the surgery arrives sooner than I expect.

Sooner than I’m ready for.

I couldn’t imagine the horror of having this thrust upon me unwillingly.

Anxiety churns in my stomach as we walk into the hospital. Rigel’s hand is a steady anchor, grounding me in the present.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. We’re in this together. If you want to back out, we can still do that.”

We.

Once again, he uses that pronoun.

We’redoing this.

We’refacing this together.

I’m not alone.

His words soothe some of my fears. I take a deep breath, nodding as I’m led away by the medical team. The weight of what I’m doing presses down on me, but I cling to Rigel’s promise.

I’ve had several mini and major panic attacks about this in the past few days.

But it’s the path I’ve chosen.