"Richard," she confirms, showing me the screen.We'll talk soon.Just that, no pleading, no threats, just the calm certainty that he'll get what he wants.
"You don't have to respond," I say.
She studies the message for another moment, then deletes it without replying. "I know," she says, and I hear the strength in her voice.
She sets the phone down and looks up at me, her expression clear and determined. "Can I ask you something, Arthur?"
"Anything."
She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders slightly. "Can I stay? Here, with you? Not just today, but... longer?" The question comes out in a rush, as if she's afraid I'll interrupt. "I know it's fast, and probably crazy, and you have your life and job, but I feel... I feel safe here. With you."
Relief and joy wash through me.
"Yes, you can stay. As long as you want," I admit, unable to keep the smile from my face.
She closes the distance between us, her arms sliding around my waist, her head resting against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the perfect way she fits against me.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"For what?"
She tilts her face up to look at me. "For seeing me. Just me."
I cup her cheek gently, understanding exactly what she means. "Always," I promise.
Epilogue – Lori
Two Years Later
The first frost of the season crunches beneath our boots as Arthur and I step onto the riverside trail. Dawn is just breaking over Whitetail Falls, painting the sky in watercolor stripes of pink and gold.
The air holds that special stillness that comes only with the first real cold—crisp, clean, making each breath visible in small clouds that dissipate in seconds.
Arthur's hand wraps around mine, his palm warm and familiar against my skin.
"Cold?" he asks, his voice low and quiet in the morning stillness.
I shake my head, smiling up at him. "Perfect, actually."
He squeezes my hand gently as we continue along the path. The Whitetail River flows beside us, unhurried and constant, its surface occasionally broken by swirling eddies around half-submerged rocks. Like us, it has its own rhythm, neither rushed nor stagnant, just moving steadily forward.
This walk has become our ritual over the past years. Nothing elaborate or planned, just something that happened naturally, like so many parts of the life we've built together.
Three mornings a week, before I head to the elementary school and Arthur goes to the station, we walk this path along the river. Sometimes we talk about important things; sometimes we hardly speak at all. Today feels like a talking day.
"I got a note from Ellie's mom yesterday," I tell him, watching a pair of ducks glide across the water. "Remember how Elliecouldn't read at the beginning of the year? She was so frustrated, kept saying she was stupid."
Arthur nods, his eyes warm with interest. "The one who hides behind her hair when you ask her questions?"
"That's her," I confirm, touched that he remembers these details about my students. "Well, she finished her first book yesterday. Her mom sent me this beautiful message about how Ellie read to her little brother last night, how she couldn't stop smiling."
"That's because of you," Arthur says, no doubt in his voice. "You saw what she needed."
I feel a flush of pride warm my cheeks despite the cold. "It wasn't just me. Her parents have been working with her every night. But still... it feels good, you know? To be part of that moment for her."
Arthur slows his pace to match mine as the path narrows, his shoulder brushing against mine. "You're good at seeing people," he says simply. "Not just what they show, but what they need."
Coming from anyone else, the observation might sound trite. From Arthur, with his quiet perceptiveness, it feels like truth.
