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“I know that,” she says.
“Then stop acting like I am.”
That hits deeper than anything else.
Because that’s the core of it.
Not strategy.
Not protection.
Us.
A long silence stretches between us.
Then—
“I don’t want him to touch anything near you,” she says quietly.
And there it is.
Not tactical.
Not calculated.
Personal.
I soften just slightly.
Not backing off.
Just… meeting her where she is.
“He doesn’t get that choice,” I tell her.
Her eyes search mine.
“And you don’t get to make it alone.”
That word again.
Alone.
She exhales.
The tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction.
Not gone.
But shifting.
“I don’t know how to do this differently,” she admits.
That’s honest.
That’s real.
And that’s all I need.
