I first met Nikki when I was sixteen. I was living in a remote area of Mexico that was under the control of Sergio Villanueva—a self-proclaimed god who dabbled in various illegal avenues. I'd been given to him as tribute when I was thirteen, and because I rebelled against what that entailed, I was sent to waste away working in tunnels of his temple—a grand, ostentatious display of Sergio's wealth and his divine providence. It was in the darkness of that tunnel that I met Nikki, the only flicker of light in my hopeless life.

I knew right away that he didn't belong there, and I did my best to help him escape, never thinking he would actually come back for me. Yet he did. A little over two years later, he showed up for me—to save me. And the only reason why he'd taken so long had been because he'd been in an accident that had put him in a coma for two years.

Nikki, or by his full name Nicholas Archibald, had been born to unimaginable riches. His family owned almost half the United States, and he was the heir of a dynasty. But with so much power comes so much danger. He survived seeing his parents brutally murdered in front of him at the age of ten, five successful kidnappings, and over sixteen attempts on his life, including one that resulted in brain damage that put him into a coma and a shooting gone wrong that gave him a permanent limp for which he requires a cane to this day. But despite still being alive, some scars can never heal.

A few years back, he was formally diagnosed with PTSD, social anxiety, and agoraphobia. And while the meds he was on did their job for a while, after he got shot in the knee during our honeymoon, his anxiety skyrocketed to the extent that he barely left our home anymore.

We lived in Texas for a while, in a home with security features specifically designed for his paranoid mind. But after I reconnected with an old friend, he made the effort to move with me to New York so I could be near her. Still, it hasn't been easy on him, and although we go out once every couple of months or so, it usually causes him great distress. So to hear that he’s made such strides in his mental health journey makes me overflow with hope. I can't stop myself from crying, tears of joy spilling down my cheeks.

"You're so brave, Nikki." I smile as I take a step forward.

Molding my palm to his cheek, I stroke him lightly, all the while not taking my gaze off his. He swallows hard, and in his eyes, I see mirrored all the pain and struggles he's had to overcome to get to this point.