“I’ll say it later too.”
That gets a reaction.
A real one.
His eyes sharpen slightly.
Searching mine.
Like he’s trying to find doubt.
Fear.
Anything that would make this easier to walk away from.
He won’t find it.
Because it’s not there.
“I grew up watching my parents love each other like that,” I tell him softly.
The words come easier than I expect.
“Through everything. Through fear. Through loss. Through uncertainty.”
His expression shifts again.
This time—deeper.
“They never ran from it,” I continue. “They chose it. Every time.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Important.
“And you think this is that?” he asks.
I don’t look away.
“I think it could be.”
That’s all I give him.
Not forever.
Not promises I can’t guarantee.
But possibility.
Real.
Honest.
And enough.
His hand tightens around mine.
