Every word she spoke was a knife, not because of what it meant for our future, but because of how long she'd carried this alone. How many nights had she lain awake, convinced she was defective? How many times had Drew's choice confirmed her worst fears about herself?
I wanted to find him and break his face. I wanted to hold her until she believed she was enough. I wanted to go back in time and spare her every second of that pain.
"I know it changes things," she whispered, searching my face for the disappointment she expected. "The future you might have pictured?—"
"Stop." I reached for her, pulled her into my arms, and held her tight against my chest. "Just stop."
"Miles—"
"Look at me." I pulled back just enough to cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You are not broken. Do you hear me? You are whole. You are everything."
"But—"
"I don't care about biological children. That was never part of my picture of us." I wiped her tears with my thumbs, my voice fierce. "Not when I was seventeen, and not now. You are what I want. Only you. Always you."
"You can't just?—"
"If we decide we want a family, we'll build one together. Adoption. Fostering. A house full of rescue dogs and terrible cooking experiments." I smiled through my own tears. "But it is not a condition of my love. It never was. It never will be."
The relief that washed over her face proved my fears. She hadn't believed she could be loved completely, as she was. Drew had taught her that love was conditional, that her worth was measured by what she could produce.
I was going to spend the rest of my life proving him wrong.
She collapsed against me, crying in earnest now, but these tears felt different. Lighter. Like poison being drained from an old wound. I held her, rocking her gently, whispering promises against her hair.
"I love you," I murmured. "Exactly as you are. Every single part."
"I love you too." Her voice was muffled against my chest. "I was so scared to tell you."
"I know. But you never have to be scared with me." I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We're in this together. All of it. The good and the bad and everything in between."
She lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed but clearer than I'd seen them in days. "How did I get so lucky?"
"I ask myself that every day." I kissed her softly. "And I always come to the same conclusion."
"Which is?"
"That I'm the lucky one."
Four days later, I was a nervous wreck.
The ring was in my pocket, a simple diamond flanked by two small emeralds that Beth had helped me choose. "For her eyes," she'd said, grinning like a woman who'd been waiting fifteen years for this moment.
My hands were shaking on the steering wheel as I drove toward the river. Not from the Parkinson's tremor, I knew that rhythm intimately by now. This was pure, undiluted terror.
"You're being very mysterious," Charlotte said, watching me with amused suspicion from the passenger seat.
"I'm being romantic. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"I hope so. Otherwise, this is going to be very awkward."
She laughed, and the sound settled some of the chaos within me. This was right. She was right. Whatever happened in the next hour, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
We parked and walked hand-in-hand down the familiar path. The oak tree came into view, its branches bare against the pale winter sky, the river rushing past with a sound like time itself moving forward.
"The river," Charlotte said softly, squeezing my hand. "Our place."
