"We’re safe here," I tell him. "The fire is miles away. We have time if anything changes."
"I know that logically," he says. "But logic doesn't help when all I can see is Sarah's car disappearing into the smoke."
The rawness in his voice hits me like a physical blow.
"Tell me about her," I say softly. "Tell me about Sarah."
He looks surprised. "You want to hear about my dead wife?"
"I want to hear about the woman you loved," I correct. "I want to understand what you lost."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him weighing whether to let me in or keep this locked away where it's safe.
Finally, he nods.
"She was a teacher," he says. "Third grade. She loved kids, loved making them laugh. She had this way of making everyone feel seen, you know? Like you were the most important person in the room."
I nod, listening.
"We met in high school," he continues. "She was the girl everyone wanted to be friends with, and I was the quiet kid who baked in his free time. I've no idea why she chose me, but she did. And we built a life together. Got married young. Had Maddie. Opened the bakery."
I don’t interrupt, I don’t flinch, I just let him talk.
His voice cracks slightly on the last part.
"The night of the fire, we were both supposed to evacuate together," he says. "But I was at the bakery trying to save what I could, and she was at home packing. The alerts came faster than anyone expected. The wind shifted. Traffic backed up on the highway. I was stuck two miles behind her, and I couldn’t get to her. I tried. I tried everything. But the smoke was too thick, and the cars were not moving, and by the time they cleared the road..."
He trails off, and I see him swallow hard.
"They found her car the next day," he says quietly. "Carbon monoxide. She never made it out."
Tears sting my eyes. "I'm so sorry," I murmur. "That is... that is a level of loss most people don't come back from, Dylan."
"The worst part is that I should have been with her," he says. "If I had left the bakery five minutes earlier, if I had not tried to save the stupid mixer or the stupid flour, I would have been in the car with her. We would have evacuated together."
"Or you both would have died," I say gently.
He looks at me, and I see the guilt etched into every line of his face.
"You can't know what would have happened," I continue. "But what I do know is that Maddie still has you because you made the choice you made. And that matters."
"It doesn't feel like it matters when I wake up in the middle of the night and smell smoke that is not there," he says.
I step closer and take the mug from his hands, setting it on the counter. Then I take both of his hands in mine.
"Dylan, you survived something impossible," I say. "And you are still standing, you’re still showing up for your daughter, you’re still creating beautiful things. And you’re still opening your heart even though it terrifies you. That is not a weakness, that is a strength."
He stares at our joined hands, and I see his throat work as he swallows.
"I'm terrified of losing you, too," he admits. "I'm terrified that if I let myself care about you the way I'm starting to, something will happen and I'll lose you the same way I lost her."
My heart clenches. "I can't promise that nothing bad will ever happen. But I can promise that I'm here right now. And I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to."
He looks up at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes is almost too much to bear.
"I don't want you to go anywhere," he says roughly.
"Then I'll stay," I whisper.
