fifty-six
Zach
The night air hits different once we step outside.
Cooler. Quieter. Cleaner than the weight of the room we just left behind. And for the first time since we arrived, I feel it.
Relief.
Not the kind that empties you. The kind that settles. The kind that tells you something shifted.
We did it. It’s out. No more hiding. No more careful lines or half-truths or watching what we say, how we touch her, where we stand in relation to her.
She’s ours.
And now everyone knows it.
My hand tightens slightly around hers as we move further into the garden, the gravel path crunching softly under our feet, the sound grounding, steady.
I glance at her.
She’s quiet.
Not withdrawn. Not overwhelmed. Just… processing.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
Her fingers curl slightly in mine.
“I’m okay,” she says, her voice gentle. “I just needed some air.”
I nod, studying her for a second longer. She looks good. Better than she has in weeks. There’s color in her cheeks. Life in her eyes. Still fragile in places, yes, but not breakable.
Not the way we’ve been treating her.
“Do you want to walk a bit?” I ask, tilting my head toward the deeper stretch of garden where the lights thin out and the space opens up.
She looks where I’m looking, then back at me.
“I’d love that.”
So we go. Slow. Unrushed.
The kind of walk that doesn’t need conversation to fill it, just presence, just closeness. Her hand stays in mine, her thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles every now and then like she needs the contact as much as I do.
The estate gardens stretch further than they looked from the outside, low hedges, tall trees, soft lighting scattered just enough to guide the path without breaking the darkness entirely.
It feels… removed.
Like we’ve stepped out of everything else for a moment. She exhales softly beside me. And then, she shifts.
Subtle. But I feel it.
Her fingers tighten slightly in mine. Her step falters just enough to catch my attention. I glance down at her.
“You okay?”
She lets out a quiet breath, almost like a laugh, but softer.
