“That makes me feel responsible.”
“No,” I agreed. “You are not responsible for anything. This is my choice and my decision.”
“But what if I leave?” she said quietly, “What happens then? What will this sacrifice be for if I leave?”
“If you do want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now.”
Her breath hitched. “You would let me walk away from you just like that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you here unless it’s by your own choice.”
Her hands trembled slightly as they came up to my chest. “I don’t want to leave.”
The words were soft but absolute, and they did something to me. Something I did not even know was possible anymore. Something that made me love her even more and made me want to hold her even closer.
“You don’t have to promise me that,” I said.
“I am not promising because I feel trapped.” She pressed her forehead against mine. “I’m promising because I feel safe here. With you.”
The word hit deeper than any declaration.
“Say it again,” I murmured.
“I don’t want to leave.”
Her lips brushed mine, slow and intentional. It was different from the night before, as if the fire inside us had calmed and had been replaced by a quiet certainty. We moved towards the bedroom without urgency, and clothes fell away without tearing. Hands explored without desperation, and every touch felt deliberate. Every kiss lingering.
“I love you,” she whispered against my mouth.
The words felt like something sacred.
“I love you,” I replied.
There was no violence in this. No collision. Just warmth and closeness and two people choosing each other without strategy. Afterward, she lay against me, tracing absent patterns along my chest.
“You’re terrifying, you know,” she murmured.
“I’ve been told.”
“Not because you’re ruthless.”
“No?”
“Because when you decide something, you don’t waver.”
“I won’t waver on this.”
She tilted her head up.
“On us?”
