“If helping your sister escape that monster is part of that... then I’ll move mountains.”
His expression hardened.
“I’ll burn cities.”
The statement was factual.
“I swear it.”
My breath hitched.
His devotion had always been extreme.
But now it was directed toward healing instead of destruction.
“If you help save her...” I whispered.
“I’ll be grateful. Forever.”
He immediately shook his head.
“Grateful?”
His tone shifted — firm but not angry.
“No.”
His hand moved to my chin, lifting my face slightly so I had to look at him.
“I don’t deserve gratitude.”
His thumb brushed under my jaw.
“I deserve the chance to prove I can be the man you should have had from the beginning.”
Silence wrapped around us again.
It was heavy with history.
Most couples were given easy love stories.
White dresses. Family celebrations. Arguments about trivial things. Simple forgiveness.
Ours had never been simple.
Not tragic.
But layered with violence, betrayal, survival, and redemption.
His love now was fierce.
Unapologetic. Constant.
His regret wasn’t something he hid — it lived inside him like a wound that refused to close.
And me?
My betrayals had stacked like invisible scars.
