Chapter 20: A Story You Can Name

It had been six days since the conference.

Ryan’s inbox was still full strangers, survivors, and students all sending one thing:

Gratitude.

Some shared their own stories.

Some said Ryan’s words had helped them finally end toxic relationships.

Some… just said thank you.

But one email stood out.

Subject: Independent Publishing Proposal – “The Blog That Broke Us”

Hi Ryan,

I’m a freelance editor with IndieSeed Publishing. One of our scouts attended the conference this week and forwarded me a copy of your speech. I also found your archived blog posts and your narrative voice really struck me.

Have you ever considered turning your blog into a full length memoir? We’d love to speak with you further.

Warm regards,

L. Tansey

IndieSeed Press

Ryan stared at the screen for so long that the monitor dimmed.

He wasn’t sure if he was shaking.

He reread the email six times.

A memoir?

His trauma… published?

He didn’t know how to feel.

Daniel knocked, then let himself in holding a sandwich and a hoodie.

“You’re stress hungry,” he said, tossing the hoodie to Ryan. “Eat.”

Ryan wordlessly held up the laptop instead.

Daniel read the email. Blinked.

“Holy”

“I don’t know if I should do it,” Ryan said quickly. “I mean… it’s personal. It’s everything. Once it’s published”

“You don’t owe anyone your pain in paperback,” Daniel cut in gently.

Ryan bit his lip. “But what if it helps someone? I mean, if it helped me, could it?”

Daniel sat down slowly. “Then maybe that’s your answer.”

Later that night, Ryan stood by his window.

The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call.

He didn’t answer yet.

Instead, he opened a blank page.

And he typed:

“A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You”

by Ryan Calloway

He stared at the title for a long moment.

Then under it, he wrote:

“This isn’t a story about revenge.

It’s about reclaiming.”

Two weeks later.

Campus had returned to its usual rhythm.

But for Ryan, everything was different.

He was seeing a therapist now. He went once a week, no longer ashamed to say it out loud.

Daniel went too not together, but for his own reasons. They’d agreed healing needed to happen side by side, not as a joint project.

Still, they saw each other more often than not.

They were sitting on the library steps when Daniel looked over and said:

“You never asked me why I didn’t try to date you again.”

Ryan blinked. “I assumed you were just… waiting?”

“I was. Still am. But I need to be sure that if I ask you, you’re saying yes because you want it. Not because you feel safe now.”

Ryan’s breath hitched.

He looked down at his hands.

“I do feel safe with you,” he said.

Daniel reached over, took one of Ryan’s hands gently.

“That’s good. But do you feel ready for more?”

Ryan looked at him.

And this time, he was the one who leaned in.

The kiss was slow. Gentle. Real.

It wasn’t explosive.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was a beginning.

Three days later.

Ryan got another email.

This time, it was from the university.

Jake Landon had officially withdrawn. No appeal. No legal pushback.

It was over.

A small email. But a massive exhale.

That night, Ryan and Daniel lay side by side on Ryan’s bed, arms barely touching, talking about anything but trauma.

Daniel told him about how he used to write poetry in middle school.

Ryan admitted he once auditioned for a school play and choked on his monologue.

“I was supposed to say ‘I have a dream,’” Ryan said. “Instead I said, ‘I have… diarrhea.’”

Daniel howled.

For once, their laughter wasn’t a break from pain.

It was just laughter.

Before falling asleep, Ryan whispered, “I think I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?” Daniel murmured.

“The memoir.”

Daniel smiled against the pillow.

“Then write it like it’s yours,” he said. “Because it is.”

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Ryan believed that.