“Norah . . .”
Then her composure cracked—subtle at first, a tremble in her breath, a tightening around her mouth—and then completely, like the fracture line had been there all along.
“I never should have trusted him.” Her voice splintered. “I was so stupid. You were right the whole time, and I forced you to leave. I pushed you away when you were trying to protect me. I’m so, so sorry.”
Her shoulders curled inward, not quite a flinch but close. Her gaze dropped to the floor as if she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, and her fingers dug lightly into her own arms, gripping as if she could hold herself together that way.
He stepped closer, but she shook her head once, not pulling away—just unraveling.
“I should’ve listened,” she whispered. “I should’ve seen it. I’ve known Richard for ten years and I didn’t see any of it. I defended him. I defendedhimagainst you.” Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so blind.”
Her voice wavered again, guilt carving a sharp line through every word.
“I put you in danger. I putmein danger. I walked straight into that trap because I believed him. I let him—” She cut herself off, breathing unsteadily. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve known. This is all my fault.”
Marshall felt the words hit him like blows. He closed the distance between them, refusing to let her drown in the lie she was telling herself.
“I shouldn’t have walked out on you,” he said, voice low but firm, trying to steady both of them. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were handling this alone.” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, heat rising.
But she wasn’t done.
“I thought you weren’t coming back.” The confession tumbled out, torn straight from the center of her fear. “When you walked away, I—” Her breath broke. “I thought I’d ruined everything. That I’d pushed you past what you could forgive.”
Marshall’s chest tightened so sharply it nearly folded him. The idea that she’d carried that fear—that she’d stood in that hallway believing he’d abandoned her—cut deeper than anything that had happened afterward.
He stepped in and placed his hands gently on her arms. She lifted her face to him, eyes shining now, finally breaking.
“Norah.” His voice came out rough. “I will always come back.”
She pressed her lips together, a tremor running through her.
His forehead dipped until it rested against hers, breath mingling in the small space between them. He shut his eyes, letting the moment steady them both.
Her fingers curled into his shirt—not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Just holding.
He exhaled, the adrenaline finally beginning to bleed out of his system now that she was here, breathing, alive.
“Never again,” he whispered. Not a promise he made lightly. Not one he made often. “I won’t leave you like that again.”
She let out a small, broken sound—relief and exhaustion tangled together—and leaned into him until the tension drained from her shoulders.
“I’ll never tell you to leave again,” she said through heaving breaths.
“That would be preferred. But even if you did, love,” he murmured, voice roughened by everything he wasn’t saying, “I’ve decided I won’t listen.”
Marshall wrapped one arm around her, careful of her bruises, and pulled her in closer.
For a heartbeat, they simply breathed the same air—her trembling settling against his steadiness, his restraint fraying under the weight of everything they’d survived tonight.
Norah lifted her face. Not a question. Not quite permission. Just...open.
Something in him broke loose.
He cupped her jaw with his free hand, thumb brushing the line of her cheek where fear had lived only minutes ago. His forehead dipped to hers once—Are you sure?—and when she leaned in, the last of his control snapped.
Marshall kissed her.
Not urgent or demanding. A slow, reverent press of mouth to mouth, as if he needed to relearn the shape of her. As if the world had tried to take her from him and he had to prove—to himselfmore than anything—that she was here. Alive. Warm. His to hold.
