He nods slightly, acknowledging the truth of that. “I want to ask her to marry me.”
The words land in the room like a bell. Clear.
Final.
He doesn’t react right away. Just leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. “You asking me for permission,” he says carefully choosing his words, “or you telling me?”
“I’m asking,” I answer without hesitation.
His eyes flicker with something like approval. “Why?”
Because it matters. Because he raised her. Because I respect him. Because she would want it that way.
“All of it,” I reply simply. “But more than anything I am asking for her hand because I don’t ever want to take her from you. I respect you enough to tell you my intentions are to build a life with her and you in it.”
He watches me a long time. “You understand what you’re signing up for?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“You understand she ain’t easy because life wasn’t easy?”
“I do.”
“You understand she’ll try to carry the whole damn world if you let her?”
A faint smile pulls at my mouth. “I won’t let her.”
He nods slowly. “You understand loving her means loving the weight she carries too?”
“I already do.”
Silence settles between us. He leans slightly to the right, lifting his left hand, the tremors of his disease making it impossible for him to hold his hand steady. “When I went to war,” he explains quietly, “I didn’t know if I’d come home. When I met their Nanny, I didn’t know if I deserved her.”
My chest tightens at the softness in his voice.
“But I asked her anyway,” he continues. “And I told her the truth—that I didn’t know what kind of man I’d be in ten years. But I knew I’d spend those ten years trying to be the best for her.”
I nod slowly. “That’s all I can promise too,” I say. “I don’t know what the next ten years look like. But I know I’ll wake up every day trying to be the man she deserves.”
His eyes shine faintly. “You ain’t perfect,” he calls me out.
“No, sir.”
“You ain’t soft.”
“No, sir.”
“You’ve done things I don’t wanna know about.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods once. “But you came for her,” he continues. “You stayed. You built this place so I could age with dignity. You didn’t flinch when things got hard.”
He leans back.
“You got my permission,” he states simply.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thank you,” I say, voice rough.
