Years of wanting, of missing, of hoping poured into that kiss, all the broken pieces finding their way back together in the quiet, desperate clutch of fingers and the dizzying slide of mouths.
No end. Just this.
Ingrid pressed closer, feeling the solid heat of him, the familiar shape of him anchoring her to something she finally believed could last. Warmth flooded her, through her veins, down to her fingertips, her toes.
When they finally pulled apart, Beck didn’t move far.
He stayed right there, forehead resting against hers, their noses brushing, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
Ingrid closed her eyes, letting herself just feel it. The fullness, the weightless peace blooming in her chest, washing out years of fear and loneliness.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t just surviving. She was living.
And she wasn’t doing it alone anymore.
