"Don't." The word comes out fierce. "Don't you dare act like your life doesn't matter."
"It matters less than yours. Less than Elena's."
"Not to me." The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. "Not to me, Lupo."
He's quiet for a long moment, just looking at me. "I need to do something. I can't just hide here forever while you slowly go under. I won't."
I want to argue. Want to tell him to stay hidden, stay safe, that we'll figure something out. But he's right. We can't go on like this. The money is running out. Winter is coming. And I can't protect him and feed my daughter at the same time.
"What do you suggest?" I ask finally.
"Let me go into the village. Not the market, somewhere else. A different town, maybe. I'll find work. Construction, labor, anything. I'll use cash, stay off the radar as much as possible, but I need to contribute something."
"It's too dangerous."
"Everything is dangerous." He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "Staying here is dangerous. Those men at the market proved that. Running out of money is dangerous. Me being a burden on you is dangerous. At least if I'm working, I'm useful."
"You are useful."
"Not enough." He squeezes my hand. "Please, Isabella. Let me do this. Let me try to help."
I look at our joined hands. His are rough, scarred, capable. Hands that have built and fixed and, according to his memories, hurt people. But right now, they are just holding mine, warm and solid.
"What if you remember?" I ask quietly. "What if you go out there and your memory comes back and you realize you need to leave? That you have a life somewhere else? What if,"
"What if I'm married?" He says what I haven't let myself think. "What if I have a family?"
"Yes."
He's quiet for a moment. "I don't think I do. When I try to reach for that, for a wife, children, a home, there is nothing. Just emptiness."
"You don't know that for sure."
"No. But I know this." He leans forward, intense. "Whatever I had before, whoever I was, I'm here now. With you. And I'm not walking away from that unless you tell me to."
I want to believe him. Want to trust that when his past catches up with him, he'll choose this. Choose us. But I've been wrong about men before.
"Okay," I say finally. "You can look for work. But carefully. And not in the village where we usually go. Somewhere farther away."
"Agreed."
"And if you feel like your memory is coming back, if you start to remember who you are, you come straight home. We deal with it together."
"Home," he repeats softly. "Is that what this is?"
"I don't know what else to call it."
He stands, pulling me up with him, and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong.
"I'm going to take care of you," he murmurs into my hair. "You and Elena. I promise."
"You can't promise that. You don't even know what your real life is all about."
He pulls back enough to look at me. "I know that whatever I was before, I want to be someone different now. Someone worthy of you. Someone who can provide for you and protect you and be what you need."
"I need you alive."
"Then I'll stay alive." He kisses my forehead. "Trust me."
