Fast.
Not angry.
Never angry at her.
Just needing closer.
Needing real.
Felicity’s breath caught the second I stopped in front of her.
For one second, neither of us moved.
The storm pounded outside the windows now.
Thunder.
Rain.
Wind.
But inside this room?
Only her.
Only us.
“You waited?” I asked quietly.
The question sounded wrecked even to my own ears.
Felicity nodded once.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I checked the mailbox every day,” she whispered. “For months.”
God.
Pain punched straightthrough my chest.
Because I could see it.
Young Felicity.
Hopeful.
Waiting for me.
While I sat thousands of miles away writing letters she never received.
“I thought you forgot me,” she admitted shakily. “Then eventually I thought maybe you found somebody else.”
“No.”
The word came out instantly.
Certain.
