What kills me is the fact that I couldn’t protect her.
That it was my family—my father—who stole her life.
And I let it happen.
“I don’t care what happened to you,” I manage, voice raw. “Not like that. Not in the way you mean.”
She scoffs, but I step forward.
“What happened to you… it could never change how I feel about you. It doesn’t make me love you any less. It just proves how miserably I failed you.”
Stephanie watches me with a guarded gaze, though her tears have started to subside. And in their place, I see a stone-cold disbelief that tells me just how little she trusts me now. “Then why didn’t you come for me?” she asks, her voice flat and painfully emotionless.
“I thought you were dead,” I breathe, the confession almost as bad as reliving that moment all over again. “But it’s no excuse. I should have protected you. I should have fought harder. And I swear to you, Stephanie, if I’d thought there was even a chance you were alive, I never would have stopped looking.”
I drop my hands to my sides, trying to respect her desire for distance, even if it feels like every inch between us has carved a gaping chasm in my heart. “I grieved for eight years,” I say. “I buried you in my heart. But I never moved on. I couldn’t. You were the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’restillthe only woman I’ve ever loved. Without you, my life has no meaning.”
Her lips part slightly, and though her walls are still up, I can see cracks forming in their foundation.
“When I saw you again—coming home from the market—I followed you because I thought I was losing my mind. I was certain you were a ghost sent to haunt me.”
She turns away, arms tight around herself.
“I should’ve told you right away,” I say. “But then, you didn’t recognize me. And I didn’t know how to say, ‘Hey, I’m the guy who failed you eight years ago and now I’ve stalked you home because you’re supposed to be dead.’”
Silence.
I exhale shakily. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Is that why you lied?” she asks quietly, not turning around. “Said you were my neighbor? Pretended you didn’t know me?”
“Yes.” I close my eyes. “At first, I was hurt. You were alive, and you never told me. Then I was confused when you didn’t seem to recognize me. And by the time I realized you couldn’t tell me—that you didn’t know who you were—I knew it was already too late.”
She finally turns, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling. “And still, you didn’t tell me,” she says softly. “Even then.”
I nod slowly. “Because I was afraid that if I did, I’d lose you. That if I told you the truth, you’d pull away. I’d failed you. Again. And how could you ever forgive me for keeping something like that from you? I just… I was so damn happy to see you. To be with you, even if you didn’t remember me. I didn’t want to ruin it. I wanted to keep you for as long as you would let me.”
A long silence stretches between us. Her expression is unreadable.
Then, at last, she speaks. “These last few weeks,” she says slowly, “they’ve been the happiest I’ve felt in years.”
My heart skips a beat.
She shakes her head, her eyes shining. “I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what it was about you. But when I saw you that first day, it felt like coming home. Like peace.”
Tears well in my eyes. “You’re my home,” I whisper.
She looks at me, vulnerable now in a way that twists the knife deeper. “I couldn’t remember what you meant to me,” she says, “but I think my heart knew all along.”
God, I can’t take it anymore.I step forward. And this time, when I pull her into my arms… she lets me.
I bring my mouth crashing down on hers, pouring eight years of agony and love into a single kiss.
She gasps, her body tensing, and for a moment, I think she’s going to push me away again.
But then, slowly, her palms slide up my chest, her arms snaking around my neck, and her fingers curl in my hair like I’m not the only one drowning in the passion of this moment.
I’ve never had a kiss quite like this—like the very air we breathe is secondary to it.
