And immediately her face changes.
There it is again. That careful heartbreak.
Like she’s already bracing for goodbye.
“Hey,” she says softly as she opens the door.
The word nearly destroys me.
“You’re still here.”
“Barely.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Fragile.
Finally, she says: “I saw the press conference.”
I stop breathing for half a second. Because I can’t tell from her expression whether that’s good or bad.
“You’re staying,” she whispers.
Not accusation.
Not disbelief.
Wonder.
I step closer slowly.
Snow melts from my coat onto the bakery floor while strings of lights glow softly around us.
“Sadie,” I say quietly, “none of this feels fake anymore.”
Her breath catches visibly.
“I don’t want temporary.”
The words come easier now. Cleaner. Truer than anything I’ve said in years.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want a real life.”
Emotion breaks across her face instantly. Not graceful. Not controlled. Real.
And suddenly I understand exactly how long she’s been holding herself together trying to protect everyone else first.
“You chose us?” she whispers shakily.
The vulnerability in her voice wrecks me completely.
“I think I already had,” I admit softly. “Before I even realized it.”
Tears fill her eyes immediately.
Oh, I do love her.
The realization lands quietly but absolutely.
Not temporary.
