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Epilogue - Zach
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2025-07-29 17:24:01
BryantGlad his parents aren't a total lost cause.
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The Purrfect Wingman Epilogue - Spitfire
I prowled the perimeter of the garden like any competent commander would. The sun hung low in the sky, warm and golden, casting a soft shimmer across the petals that littered the cobblestone walk like nature’s version of confetti. Humans oohed and aahed over the setup, white chairs lined in perfect rows, satin ribbons flapping in the breeze, blossoms spilling from urns that were clearly more decorative than functional. But this wasn’t about aesthetics. This was about security. Stability. Control. This was my domain. I wore the floral collar Ofelia had bribed me into with a piece of grilled chicken. Daisies. A touch of lavender. Something pale and pink I couldn’t identify, but it didn’t offend me. It sat lightly against my fur, and I tolerated it because it matched the mood. And because I looked good in it. Obviously. Mochi, bless his foolish heart, had been strapped into a bowtie harness. A powder blue disaster with tiny white stitched stars. He strutted like he owned the place,
The Purrfect Wingman Epilogue - Ofelia
It was hot. The kind of June heat that stuck to your spine and made even the fanciest robes feel like weighted blankets soaked in regret. But I didn’t care. I stood in the middle of the Rutgers lawn, diploma in hand, doctoral hood draped down my back, surrounded by so much noise and joy that it felt like my whole chest might burst from it. Four years. Four years of midnight papers, trauma rotations, clinicals, stacked shifts, patient charts, therapy sessions, burnout, breakdowns, and breakthroughs. And now? Dr. Ofelia Rosario, PhD. I adjusted the square of my cap and scanned the crowd. Zach was the first face I found, easy to spot in a sea of red and white, thanks to the two cat ears poking out of a mesh backpack carrier slung over one shoulder. Spitfire, of course, refused to miss my big day. Mochi was nowhere to be seen, probably asleep in Zach’s crossbody bag, his default travel mode. My parents were there; my dad, Jari, dabbed his eyes behind his sunglasses, while my mo
The Purrfect Wingman Epilogue - Zach
It had been just over a month since Jane was handed a restraining order and quietly admitted to McLean Hospital for a three-month inpatient mental health hold. Publicly, she was on a “wellness sabbatical” in St. Barts. Privately, the world was a whole lot quieter. No cryptic posts. No flowers. No flickers of her shadow on security footage. It should’ve felt like peace. But now, with Christmas looming and snow caking the windows of the train bound for Boston, I was chewing the inside of my cheek like it owed me money. “Relax,” Ofelia murmured, fingers brushing against mine. “We don’t have to stay the whole time. A day and a half. Max.” She sounded calm. But I could feel the tension in her body, the way she kept smoothing the leg of her jeans like they were going to wrinkle just from existing. The backpack carriers helped. Mochi was curled inside mine, fast asleep, tail tucked to his chin, while Spitfire rode in Ofelia’s, eyes sharp and unimpressed, watching the train’s aisle like sh
The Purrfect Wingman Chapter 42 - Spitfire
It was mine. All of it. The couch. The rug. The worn hoodie that smelled like burned wood and salt. The six tiny disasters tearing across the living room like someone owed them money. From my throne, the folded blanket on the back of the couch, elevated, frayed just enough to feel earned, I watched them. This was the kingdom I built. They used to be fragile. Squeaky little puffs that couldn’t find their own tails. Now? Now, at nearly two months of age, they were a six-part stampede of fur, claws, and very poor judgment. And I was proud. Freya launched herself from the windowsill to the arm of the chair. Missed by half an inch and recovered like she meant to fall. Nova knocked over a cup of pens and looked directly at me as it clattered to the floor, like she knew I’d approve. I did. Cloud dragged a hair tie into his makeshift lair under the bookshelf. Goose had somehow acquired one of Ofelia’s socks and was parading around with it like a trophy. Pesto scaled the scratching post
The Purrfect Wingman Chapter 41 - Ofelia
Some days at the hospital felt like a blur. Others, like today, hummed with something quieter. Not peace, exactly. But the space right before it. The art therapy room was warm and dimly lit, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a soft view of the city’s skyline. It always smelled faintly like paint water and lavender markers. Kids came here for all kinds of reasons: grief, anxiety, trauma. Sometimes they came to talk. Most of the time, they came not to talk. And that was okay. Today I was helping Micah, a thirteen-year-old with a shaved head, hoodie sleeves always tugged down over their palms, and the eyes of someone who’d seen more than they should’ve. They weren’t chatty, but they liked drawing. Their sketchbook was filled with figures that resembled comic book heroes, quiet and fierce, with eyes always cast in shadow. They were hunched over a new page now, sketching a person standing in the center of swirling chaos. The figure held a long sword in both hands, the blade resting
The Purrfect Wingman Chapter 40 - Zach
I didn’t expect her to say it back. Not because I didn’t think she felt it, but because I knew how heavy those words could be when they came from her. Ofelia didn’t give anything lightly, not her trust, not her time, and definitely not her heart. So when I said, “I love you,” and she didn’t hesitate? Yeah. That did something to me. We were half-buried in a blanket, kittens snoring on our legs and chest like we were glorified heating pads, and she just looked at me, sleepy and soft and sure. “I love you, too,” Ofelia said. That was it. No dramatic swell. No surge of panic or doubt. Just peace. I let my eyes close not long after that. The world didn’t end. Nothing broke. If anything, the quiet steadied me more than a kiss ever could. She stayed curled into my side, and for the first time in too long, I didn’t dream about fire or sirens or people I couldn’t save. I dreamt of her. In the morning, I slipped out as gently as I could. Ofelia was still asleep, hair tangled, mouth sligh
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