“Took me long enough.”
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “It did.”
He smiles faintly.
Then sobers.
“And you’re willing to—what—try again?”
“I’m willing to build something new,” I say. “Not go backward.”
He nods slowly.
“I can do new.”
“Good.”
Another step.
Now we’re close enough that I can feel his breath against my skin.
“You don’t get to be half in,” I add.
“I’m not.”
“You don’t get to disappear when things get hard.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t get to treat this like a performance.”
“I’m done performing.”
I hold his gaze.
“Prove it.”
Something in his expression sharpens.
Not defensively.
But with intent.
He reaches for me slowly, giving me time to pull back if I want to.
I don’t.
His hand settles at my waist, warm and steady.
“I’m here,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I search his face.
Looking for the cracks.
The tells.
The signs that this is just another version of the same old story.
