Take her left hand.
"Gunnar—"
"I told you I'd get it back."
I slide the emerald onto her finger.
Where it belongs.
Where it's always belonged.
She starts to cry.
Quiet tears.
Happy tears.
"You found it," she whispers. "You actually found it."
"I made you a promise. I keep my promises."
She lifts her head, looks at the ring, then at me.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too."
"Is it really over? Is he really?—"
"It's over. He's never coming back. You're safe."
She buries her face in my chest and cries harder.
Releasing something—fear, maybe, or grief, or the weight of the last week.
I hold her through it.
Don't rush her.
Don't tell her it's okay.
Just let her feel whatever she needs to feel.
Eventually, the tears stop.
Her breathing evens out.
She falls asleep with the ring on her finger and her body pressed against mine.
I lie there in the darkness.
Staring at the ceiling.
Feeling the weight of everything that's happened.
The attack.
The investigation.
