"I know, sweetheart." I reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you don't have to think about that anymore."
"Okay." Her eyes were already growing heavy, the exhaustion that came with healing, which the nurses had warned us about. "Miss Claire?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you staying now? Like, really staying?"
I looked at Nathaniel, not sure what to say, not sure what I was allowed to promise.
He held my gaze. Said nothing. Left the answer entirely to me.
"I'm here," I finally said. It was the only truth I could offer with certainty. "Right now, I'm here with you."
Millie's mouth curved into a sleepy smile. "Good. I missed you."
"I missed you, too, sweetheart. More than you could ever know."
We stayed with her as she drifted, her breathing evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep. Nathaniel told her quietly about the garden at the mansion, how the roses were blooming, how the birds had built a nest in the oak tree.
I described the books waiting for her at home, the new chapter of Charlotte's Web we'd read together when she was feeling better. Small, soft things. Safe things.
When her eyes finally closed and stayed closed, the sloth clutched like a talisman against bad dreams, Nathaniel caught my eye and tilted his head toward the door.
We slipped out into the hallway, the door sighing shut behind us.
The corridor was quiet, empty except for a nurse at the far station who glanced up briefly before returning to her charts. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in that particular hospital pallor that made even healthy people look slightly ill.
Nathaniel leaned against the wall opposite me, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, genuinely, bone-deep exhausted, but there was something different in his face, too. Some weight that had been lifted.
"Thank you," he said. "For coming today. For being here."
"You don't have to thank me for that. I'll always be here for her."
"I know." He was quiet for a moment. "But I'm thanking you for more than Millie."
I felt the implication in those words, what they could mean.
"Nathaniel—"
"Let me say this." His voice was rough, uncertain in a way I'd rarely heard from him. "Please. I've been trying to figure out how to say it for a week, and I'm probably going to mess it up, but I need to try."
I nodded, giving him space to speak.
"What happened to you in that courtroom…" He stopped, started again. "What I let happen to you. What my life, my choices, my marriage did to you. I'm sorry, Claire. I'm so sorry.Those words aren't enough. I know they're not enough. But they're all I have."
"Nathaniel—"
"I tried to fix it with money." He let out a hollow laugh. "Because that's what I do. I see a problem, I throw resources at it. Your apartment, the severance, I thought if I could just give you a clean break, a way out, it would somehow make up for what you'd been through." His eyes met mine, storm-gray and anguished. "But I think I just made it worse. Didn't I?"
I couldn’t let my feelings stay locked up inside anymore.
"Yes," I whispered. "You did."
He flinched, but he didn't look away. "Tell me. Tell me what I did wrong. I need to understand."
And suddenly I was talking, words spilling out that I hadn't even known I was holding back.
"My whole life, love has been a transaction." My voice shook, but I kept going. "I’ve been stuck in the unhealthy cycle of trying to prove myself worthy.”
