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“I almost lost you,” he says.
It’s quiet.
But it hits harder than anything else.
“I know.”
“And I don’t accept that.”
I look at him.
Really look.
“You don’t get to control that.”
“No,” he agrees.
A step closer.
“But I get to choose what I fight for.”
That lands.
Deep.
He closes the distance.
No hesitation this time.
No uncertainty.
His arms come around me—
solid, steady, real.
And the second he touches me—
I break.
Not visibly.
Not loudly.
But the tremor runs through me, stronger than I expected.
I press my face into his chest, breathing him in like proof.
Like something I can anchor to.
His hand comes up, steady at my back.
Holding.
Not controlling.
Not fixing.
Just there.
