Close enough now that I can see the faint bruising still along her collarbone.
The healing cut near her wrist.
Reminders.
Of everything she went through.
Of how close—
I shut that thought down fast.
Because she’s here.
That’s what matters.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” I say again, quieter now.
“I needed to feel like myself again,” she answers.
That hits.
Because I get that.
More than I probably should.
“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.”
She turns then.
Fully facing me now.
And there’s something different in her eyes.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Something steadier.
Something that wasn’t there before.
“Thank you for saving me,” she says.
Not a question.
A statement.
“Always, sweetheart.”
Another pause.
Then—
“And you meant everything you said.”
That one lands.
Because we both know what she’s talking about.
