“Because when I decide something matters,” I say quietly, “I don’t let it go.”
Her breath catches. “I’m not something to conquer.”
“I know.”
My thumb traces her lower lip. “You’re something to protect.”
Her eyes soften. “I don’t need protection from love.”
“No,” I say. “But you deserve someone who won’t half-choose you.”
Silence hangs between us.
“I won’t,” I add.
Her fingers press into my chest. “Then don’t pull away.”
The plea is quiet. Vulnerable.
I kiss her again.
Not to claim.
Not to escape.
But to promise.
Her hands slide down my arms, grounding us both.
When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen and her eyes are bright.
“Lauren doesn’t disappear because I kiss you,” I say.
“That’s good.”
“She’s still part of this house.”
“She always will be.”
“And if you’re going to be here,” I continue, “it’s not as a replacement.”
Her expression steadies. “I don’t want to be.”
“You’d be part of something new.”
She nods. “That’s all I want.”
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re not competing,” I say.
“I never was.”
She’s right. She’s not competing with my past. She’s standing beside it. Honoring it. And somehow, that makes wanting her feel less like betrayal, and more like survival.
I pull her into my chest. She fits there too easily.
I stare at her for a long moment. Then I cup her face and kiss her forehead.
