“You were out there, breaking, fighting to survive—and I… wasn't.”
He leans in, presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breath unsteady. Then he cups my face gently, reverently.
“If you’ll let me, Della… “
He pauses, voice barely a whisper now.
“I’ll carry this with you. All of it. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to bring back your smile. The way you used to laugh. The light in your eyes. I swear I’ll find it again, with you.”
His thumbs brush away my tears like a vow sealed in silence.
“Whatever you need—whatever I am—it’s yours.”
He gently pulls me closer to his heart, arms wrapping around me with trembling tenderness. He holds me like I’m something he thought he lost forever. Like if he holds me long enough, he can undo the nightmare.
And I hold him like his embrace is the only place I’ve ever belonged. Like after all the breaking, all the silence, all the time… we still fit.
Two pieces of the same ruin, finding their shape again.
I can feel his heartbeat, his breath… his tears falling silent.
“You are not broken,” he says. “And none of that—none of it—was your fault.”
I look at him then, really look. And the way he watches me—like I’m not ruined, not shattered, but something sacred that was taken from him, like I’m still whole underneath the ache—makes me believe I can be whole again.
He shifts, gently, tugging the blanket around us. His arms don’t leave me—not even for a moment. I bury my face into the curve of his neck, breathing in the quiet safety that only he has ever made me feel.
His heartbeat is a steady drum beneath my palm.
My fingers twist lightly into the fabric of his shirt. His hand stays on my back, warm and sure.
There’s nothing more that needs to be said. Not tonight.
And maybe healing doesn’t come in big, sweeping waves. Maybe it comes like this—a breath, a heartbeat, a quiet night where pain doesn’t win.
Sleep takes me slowly.
But for the first time in five years, it doesn’t take me alone. He’s here.
And I believe I might wake up whole.
Chapter 15
THE MORNING AFTER
Between the pain and the healing there is hope
Dorian
She's asleep in my arms.
Her breath brushes warm against my collarbone, the steady rhythm of it the only thing keeping me tethered to this moment instead of shattering beneath the weight of everything she just told me.
I hold her like I might never get to again. Like letting go would undo whatever fragile peace she found in sleep.
But I can’t sleep.
Her nightmare is over but mine is still unfolding. The image of Della—attacked, alone, broken, fighting for her life in the dark—loops behind my eyes like a curse.
