Not when I’ve spent years trying to convince myself you didn’t choose me because you didn’t want me. Not when I found out the hard way that people can leave without explanation. Not when I finally—finally—started accepting I am meant to be alone.
I release her gently, giving her space she clearly needs. Her arms fall from around me reluctantly, and I step back before my self-control snaps.
“Sit,” I tell her softly, motioning to the couch.
She perches on the edge, shoulders tight, hands twisting in her lap. I grab a glass of water and set it in front of her.
“Drink.”
She obeys.
Because she always does when she’s shaken.
I sit on the coffee table in front of her, close but not touching. “Start from the beginning.”
She swallows, then tells me everything—visiting Anna, running into Damian, her aunt’s voice echoing down the hall. Her panic. Her escape.
I don’t interrupt. Not even when my hands curl into fists so tight I feel my nails cutting skin.
When she finishes, she looks up at me. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
That—right there—that breaks me.
“For what?” My voice comes out harsher than intended.
“For bringing this into your life. Into your home. For causing trouble. I know you only agreed to the engagement because you?—”
Because of the promise of a child. My child. “That’s not why.” The words slip out before I can cage them.
She blinks. “What?”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Yeah, I never realized how much I wanted to be a father until I lost my baby girl,” I admit. “The engagement gave me…you. But I didn’t agree because I needed something from you. Not just that.”
Her brows pull together. “Then why?”
I should stop.
Don’t say it. Don’t dig up old graves. Don’t risk confusing the lines. Don’t risk wanting something I know I can’t have.
But she’s sitting there looking at me like I’m the only safe place she has left in the world.
And the truth claws its way up my throat.
“Because I wasn’t about to let you walk back into my life for the first time in four years just to walk out again scared and alone,” I say quietly. “Because someone needed to stand between you and the people who’ve been hurting you. Because you mattered to me then. And whether I like it or not… you matter to me now.”
Her breath catches.
Every part of me goes still.
We stare at each other—charged air, frayed nerves, all the ghosts between us waking up and stretching.
She whispers, “Caden…”
And something in her voice is so soft, so broken, so familiar that it nearly drags me forward.
Nearly.
