Tom's hands curled into fists in his pockets.
He'd put Lauren in this position. Had made her doubt him so completely that even his most honest words made her question him. The hesitation on her face—the careful way she was reading like she was looking for the catch, the angle, the place where his promises would reveal themselves as hollow—that was his fault.
He'd broken her trust so thoroughly that even reading a letter made her look fragile and guarded.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She was crying because ofhim. Again.
Something in Tom twisted at the sight of her pain. He wanted to reach for her. Wanted to wipe that tear away. Wanted to pull her against him and promise he'd never make her cry again.
But he stayed where he was. Fists clenched. Watching. Witnessing what his words were doing to her.
More tears now. Silent ones that tracked down her face and dripped onto the paper. Her hand came up to cover her mouth.
Tom could only stand there while Lauren read every raw, desperate word he'd written. Every promise he had no right to make but was making anyway.
She read the last line.
Lowered the pages slowly.
Looked up at him.
She gestured helplessly at the letter. "I don’t think words can fix this."
Something fierce and furious roared to life in Tom's chest. Anger. Not at her—never at her. At himself. At every year he'd wasted making her feel less than.
Anger and impotence.
The same feeling he'd had watching her slam the door on Christmas—that terrible, beautiful moment when she'd finally chosen herself.
"Of course they're not enough," he said. "You're worth so much more than words, Lauren. You're worth everything."
She stared at him.
"But words are part of what you deserve," Tom continued. "They're not all of it—not even close—but they're something. And I'm going to give you everything. Every single thing you deserve. That's—" His voice cracked. "That's my right. It’s a husband's privilege to give his wife everything he has to give.”
He'd given her his words. His truth.
But words were just the beginning. He'd give her everything else too—actions, time, proof, the studio addition with wall-to-wall windows, the rest of his life spent celebrating instead of diminishing her.
She deserved everything. And Tom would spend whatever time he had left in this world trying to give it to her.
If she let him.
Tom pulledinto her driveway and killed the engine.
The silence that followed felt heavy. Significant. Like they were both trying to figure out what came next.
Lauren still had the letter pressed against her chest, the pages crumpled now from being held so tightly. Her eyes were red from crying. Her face was blotchy and beautiful and Tom wanted to memorize every detail of this moment.
"Thank you for today," she said quietly. "For bringing me there. For this." She touched the letter.
Tom nodded. His throat felt too tight for words.
They sat there for a moment longer. The house in front of them was dark It looked cold. Empty.
He hated the thought of her going back into that emptiness alone.
"I should—" Lauren started.
