“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
Her tone sharpens just enough to pull my eyes to hers. “You went in,” she says. “You tried.”
“I failed.”
“You survived.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“Do you know what I see?” she asks.
I shake my head once.
“I see a man who has carried the weight of a building on his back for almost a decade, raised a little girl alone, and never once asked anyone to help him hold it.”
My jaw clenches. “That’s my job.”
“No,” she says softly. “That’s your fear.”
The word lands hard. I pull my hand from hers, running it through my hair. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me.” I turn toward her fully now.
“What do you want me to say, Tessa?”
“The truth.”
“I just told you.”
“No,” she says, stepping closer again. “You told me what happened. Not what it did to you.”
My chest tightens.
“It hollowed me out,” I admit. “Happy felt like betrayal. Wanting anything felt like disrespect. Every time Lacee laughed, I felt guilty because her mother wasn’t there to hear it.”
Tessa’s eyes soften.
“You think loving again means forgetting,” she says.
“It feels like replacing.”
“Love isn’t a slot machine, Sawyer.” Her voice is firm now. “It’s not limited supply.”
“I made vows.”
“And you kept them.”
“I’m still keeping them.”
She steps closer until her hands rest against my chest. I freeze.
“You loved her,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t disappear because you’re capable of loving again.”
