Then Colt moves, and places his hand over mine.
“Elena,” he says softly, “that wasn’t your fault.”
I shake my head. “I know that logically, but?—”
“No,” he interrupts, voice firmer now.
“It wasn’t your fault. At all. And any man who made you feel otherwise…he didn’t deserve you.”
Something inside me trembles.
He squeezes my hand.
“You’re not broken,” he says quietly. “You’re not less. And you’re definitely not alone. You’re amazing.”
My breath shudders.
“Colt…”
He shifts closer, lifting a hand to my cheek, not pushing for anything.
Just…offering warmth.
“You don’t have to tell me more,” he says. “But if you ever want to?”
His thumb brushes a stray tear away.
“I’m here.”
My chest aches—not the sharp, painful kind, but the fragile, tender kind. It feels like healing and fear tangled together.
I finally manage a small, shaky laugh. “Wasn’t expecting morning emotional support from my trainer.”
He smiles. Soft, earnest, devastating. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “I’m full of surprises.”
He leans his forehead gently against mine.
And for the first time in a long time…I feel safe.
Colt’s forehead is still resting against mine.
The room is quiet.
And then my phone lights up on the nightstand, buzzing.
I frown as I reach for it.
Colt watches my expression shift in real time.
The text reads:
Brandon (EX-HUSBAND): Hey. You still have that old watch my mom gave me. Think it’s in one of the boxes in your closet.
I can swing by later this week to grab it.
My stomach tightens, and Colt senses it immediately.
His voice is gentle. “Everything okay?”
