The words hit like they had the first time—salvation and sentence wrapped together.
"You shouldn't," I whispered.
"Too late." Her thumb traced my cheekbone. "I already do. I love you, Cassian. I love the man who makes terrible pancakes to hear his son laugh. Who holds my hand through nightmares. Who got scared of something good and ran away because he's spent his whole life learning that love is dangerous."
"It is dangerous—"
"Everything worth having is dangerous." She stepped closer until I could feel her warmth. "But you can't protect us by shutting us out. You can't keep Leo safe by breaking his heart. And you can't save me from being hurt by hurting me yourself."
"I don't know how to do this." The admission cost me everything. "How to love without destroying it."
"Then we'll learn together." Her forehead pressed against mine. "But you have to stop running. You have to let us in."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to more than I'd wanted anything. But the fear was overwhelming—the certainty that I'd ruin this, destroy them, prove that I was exactly the monster I'd always believed myself to be.
"What if I can't?" I whispered. "What if I try and fail? What if I hurt you both anyway?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together." Her hands framed my face, forcing me to look at her. "But you can't keep living likethis—terrified of happiness, running from love, destroying good things because you're afraid of losing them."
"I don't know how to stop."
"Start by staying." Her voice was gentle now, pleading. "Tomorrow morning, come to breakfast. Play trains with Leo. Hold my hand. Just… stay. That's all I'm asking. Just stay."
I looked at her—this woman who'd seen the worst of me and was still standing here, offering me love I didn't deserve. Asking me to be brave enough to accept it.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words barely audible.
"Me too." A small, trembling smile. "But I'm more scared of living without you. Of Leo growing up thinking his father didn't love him. Of wasting this chance because we were both too afraid to try."
She was right. She was right about all of it.
I'd spent three days running from the best thing that had ever happened to me. Three days breaking my son's heart because I was too afraid to risk my own. Three days proving that I was exactly the coward she'd called me.
"I love you," I said, the words coming easier this time. "I love you, and it terrifies me. Because I don't know how to do this. How to be what you need."
"Just be you." She pressed closer. "The you from that morning. The one who held my hand and said he could get used to this. That's all I need. That's all Leo needs. Just you, staying."
I pulled her into my arms, finally letting myself hold her the way I'd wanted to for three days. She collapsed against me, her tears soaking into my shirt, her body shaking with relief.
"I'm sorry," I murmured against her hair. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. Hurt Leo. I was trying to protect you and Ijust—"
"You broke our hearts," she finished. "But you can fix them. If you stay. If you stop running."
"I'll stay." The promise felt like jumping off a cliff, but I made it anyway. "I'll stay, and I'll try. I can't promise I won't get scared again—"
"Then I'll remind you." She pulled back to look at me. "I'll remind you every day that you're worth loving. That we're worth fighting for. That you don't have to run."
I kissed her then—desperate, apologetic, full of promises I hoped I could keep. When we broke apart, she was crying again, but this time with something that looked like hope.
"Tomorrow morning," she whispered. "Pancakes with Leo. No running."
"No running," I agreed, even though the fear still clawed at my chest.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe love was supposed to be terrifying. Maybe the bravest thing I could do was stay anyway.
We stood there on the balcony, holding each other, both of us trembling with fear and hope and the fragile beginning of belief that maybe—just maybe—we could make this work.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
