“I used to work.”
“You will work again.”
“What if I can’t do it the same?”
“Then we find a different way.”
“What if I’m different?”
“You are.”
He flinched.
I tightened my hold.
“So am I.”
Noah looked at me.
“The man I was before your accident believed love meant protecting you from every problem. I don’t believe that anymore.”
“What do you believe?”
“That love means telling the truth and staying while we decide what to do with it.”
His eye filled again.
“I feel lost.”
I moved beside him.
“Come here.”
He rose without argument.
The exhaustion of the day made him lean heavily into me.
I wrapped both arms around him.
His right hand clutched the back of my shirt.
“I know my name,” he said against my neck. “I know Denver. Leah. The girls. I know how to wire a panel.”
I rubbed his back.
“But the man in the photographs had a whole life. He knew where everything belonged.”
“He was lost sometimes too.”
“Was he?”
“Frequently.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“You asked about happy memories.”
“What was he lost about?”
