He rests his hands on his hips, not searching for words, just choosing them carefully.
“You showed up,” he says. “You stayed when it got harder than you expected. You didn’t quit when it stopped being easy.”
I let out a quiet breath. “That doesn’t mean I won’t.”
His gaze sharpens just slightly.
“But you haven’t.”
I look down at my hands, tracing the edge of the blanket between my fingers.
“I almost did,” I admit. “That first day … I thought about packing everything up and pretending this was a very expensive mistake.”
“I know.”
I glance up. “You do?”
“You looked like it.”
A soft laugh slips out of me. “Great. So I was obvious.”
“You were honest.”
“So that’s what you see?” I ask. “A woman stubborn enough to stay when she probably shouldn’t?”
He steps closer again, this time taking my hand.
“I see someone who doesn’t walk away just because something’s hard.”
My chest tightens slightly at that.
“That matters to you,” I say.
“It does.”
I hold his gaze. “Why?”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate.
“Because I don’t invest in things that don’t last.”
I swallow, feeling the weight of his statement.
“And if I get stuck?” I ask, softer now.
He doesn’t soften when he answers. He doesn’t need to.
“Then you come to me.”
I blink. “That simple?”
“Yes.”
I search his face for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that suggests he didn’t mean it exactly the way it sounded. I don’t find it.
“You’re just … there?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
