She makes a small noise, and I take it as encouragement to continue.
"But then I met your mom. And she was prickly and defensive and absolutely perfect. And somehow, she saw something in me worth saving." I kiss the top of her head. "And now I have you. My beautiful girl. My second chance at doing things right."
Her eyes are drooping now, the warmth and rhythm of my heartbeat lulling her back toward sleep.
"I'm going to make mistakes," I tell her. "I'm going to come home bruised and bloody sometimes. I'm going to be overprotective and probably embarrass you when you're older. But I promise you this. I will always come home. I will always fight to get back to you and your mom. Because you two are my light in the darkness."
She's asleep again, her tiny body completely relaxed in my arms. I stand there for a while longer, just holding her, marveling at the miracle of this life I've been given.
Eventually, I put her back in her crib and return to bed, where Rachel immediately curls back into me.
"You're a good dad," she murmurs, half-asleep. "We’re lucky to have you."
"I'm the lucky one," I tell her honestly. "You both saved me. Gave me a reason to be better."
"We saved each other," Rachel corrects. "That's how it works."
She's right. We did save each other. Two broken people who found each other in the worst possible circumstances and somehow built something beautiful from the wreckage.
As I drift off to sleep, my last thought is that King and Luna were wrong about trauma bonding. What Rachel and I have isn't built on crisis and survival instincts that fade when things calm down.
It's built on truth. On seeing each other's darkness and choosing to love anyway. On two shadows finding their way to the light together.
And that's not temporary.
That's forever.
