Page 158 of His Confession

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I don’t reach for it.

Not yet, but I don’t shove it away either.

Progress, I guess.

She leans back into me, resting her head against my shoulder, and I wrap my arm around her automatically. We fit together so easily.

She falls quiet again, the way she does when she’s content enough not to fill the space.

Her head rests against my shoulder, her weight warm and familiar, and for a while, we simply sit there. The television continues to play something inconsequential, but neither of us is paying attention. Outside, the city moves on without us, loud and alive and unconcerned.

This should feel peaceful … and it does. But peace has never been my baseline. Control has.

I rest my cheek lightly against the top of her head, breathing her in.

My phone buzzes again on the table.

I don’t look at it.

Melissa eventually shifts again, reaching for her mug, grimacing when she realizes it’s cold. “Gross,” she mutters.

I smirk faintly. “Tragic.”

She laughs softly and stands, padding toward the kitchen to reheat it. I watch her move through my apartment like she belongs there, like she’s always known the rhythm of the space.

It’s unsettling how natural it feels. I lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Frank’s words echo in my mind, uninvited.

Avoidance isn’t peace. It’s just fear with better posture.

I used to think love was the thing that broke people.

Now I’m starting to understand it’s what reveals where you already are.

Melissa comes back, settling beside me again, warm mug in hand.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she says lightly.

I consider lying.

Instead, I say, “I’m realizing how easy it is to keep doing what I’ve always done.”

She nods slowly. “And how hard it is not to.”

I glance at her, surprised.

“I’m not asking you to change,” she continues. “But I don’t want you to disappear inside it.”

The words are gentle, but they land.

“I won’t,” I say, though I don’t fully know how yet.

She smiles softly. “That’s enough for today.”

She leans in, pressing a brief kiss to my jaw, and just like that, the moment passes.

But the awareness doesn’t.