The word hangs in the air. Forward.
My whole life has been structured around holding still. Around maintaining. Around surviving.
Forward feels terrifying.
But it also feels like breathing. I look at Grandpa.
“You really want this?” I ask.
He nods without hesitation. “I want to see you living,” he says. “Not just caring.”
I turn to Miles. “And you’re sure?” I whisper. “You’re sure you don’t want to think about this?”
He cuts me off gently, cupping my face. “I missed yesterday,” he says quietly. “I felt the fear. I experienced the unease of fighting the men who thought they could take you.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “I don’t want another day with anything preventing me from fully loving you.”
My heart feels too big for my chest.
“I don’t need to give up my family,” he continues. “I just need to build one with you.”
A sob-laugh escapes me. Grandpa smiles.
“That’s the kind of talk I like,” he says.
I wipe my eyes, trying to steady myself.
“So we’re really talking about moving?” I ask weakly.
Josie nods. “We’re talking about options. We’re talking about not living in fear.”
Grandpa squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how long I’ve got,” he says gently. “But I know I don’t want to spend it watching you shrink your world.”
Silence settles over us, heavy but not hopeless. I look at Miles again.
His eyes are steady. He’s not pushing. He’s not demanding. He’s just there. Waiting. Choosing. And for the first time, I let myself imagine it.
A house somewhere new. Miles’ bike in the driveway. Grandpa next door with caregivers and neighbors and Josie.
Me coming home from work not feeling like I’m carrying the entire weight of someone else’s survival alone.
It’s overwhelming.
It’s terrifying.
It’s beautiful.
I take a shaky breath.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Grandpa leans forward slightly. “Okay what?”
“Okay,” I repeat, stronger this time. “We look at the house next door to Josie. We talk to Dean. We figure out the numbers.”
Josie exhales a relieved breath. Miles closes his eyes briefly like he just won something he didn’t dare hope for. Grandpa smiles wider than I’ve seen in months. “That’s my girl,” he says.
I laugh through tears. Miles leans in and kisses my temple gently.
And for the first time since the road went dark and my world tilted, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive.
