His breath wavered again, and I watched as Ansel —Theo— closed his eyes, just for a moment. “Part of me resented that you got sick. That I had to leave everything I’d built for myself behind to come home. But that’s not fair — being here, being with you… It opened something inside of me. I’m a better man for having spent these last four months with you.”
He softened then, voice dropping to a whisper that only I seemed to hear. “To you, Mom — and to the love that taught me how to be whole — I’m grateful to have been yours.”
My heart clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. The words echoed inside me, layered with meaning I could only grasp halfway — becausehewas the one who’d taught me love, who’d helped me find the pieces of myself he thought were lost.
And that line wasn’t from the novel.
The silence that followed wasn’t just the pause between takes. It was a breath held by a man who had finally laid down his armor. I swallowed hard, tears blurring my vision, wishing I could hold him in that moment, keep him safe from the weight he carried.
When the director called, “Cut,” it jolted me back to my body, to my life — but I knew nothing would ever be the same.
Because I’d just witnessed the man I loved bare his soul — and somehow, in the quiet spaces between his words, he’d spoken to me too.
The crew erupted into applause — clapping, laughing, voices buzzing with relief and excitement.
But I couldn’t move.
My legs felt like they’d turned to water.
The weight of what I’d just heard — whathehad just bared — crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everyone else was celebrating. Smiling. Toasting. Slapping Ansel on the back like this was just another victory.
But inside me, something had shattered.
I blinked hard, fighting back the storm behind my eyes as a sob threatened to escape. This was his truth — raw, unfiltered, heartbreakingly beautiful — and it tore me apart to know how much pain he carried beneath that calm exterior.
I wanted to reach out. To hold him. To tell him it was okay to fall apart. But instead, I let the tears slip quietly down my cheeks, hidden in the shadows just beyond the buzzing lights.
I was surrounded by noise, but inside, the ache was deafening. I loved him so fiercely it hurt.
This broken, beautiful,wonderfulman.
CHAPTER 64
The room was a madhouse — cameras flashing, voices buzzing, champagne bottles popping like fireworks. People swirled around me like a storm, everyone clamoring for a piece of the moment, but I was tethered, anchored, grounded by one single thing.
Juniper.
She stood there, apart from the chaos, glowing like a quiet, fierce light that cut through the noise and heat and dizzy whirl of everything.
I caught her eye, and suddenly everything else blurred — the laughter, the congratulations, the pressure, the expectations — all of it dissolved into static white noise.
Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, her eyes shimmering with that fragile, breathtaking mix of pride and vulnerability, and my heart nearly broke and soared at once.
I could feel the ache in her, the way she’d carried my pain with me, how she’d unlocked something raw and real inside me I’d buried foryears— alone and festering.
And here, surrounded by a storm of flashing bulbs and peopleyelling my name, the only thing I wanted was to wrap her up, hold her close, tell her she’d saved me just by being herself.
I could still taste the adrenaline from the scene, still feel the echo of the eulogy on my tongue — that line, that confession, hanging between us, unspoken but loud as hell.I’m grateful to have been yours.
A slow smile cracked across my face, a grin that felt like a secret vow. I’d gone off script… Kellogg hated when I improvised lines, but it just felt…right.
I was alive. More alive than I’d been in years.
And it was because of her.
Because ofus.
Because maybe — just maybe — this was the beginning of something that wasn’t about fame or movies or what anyone else thought, but about the life we could build together, messy and beautiful and ours.
