It’s not a warning.
It’s a choice.
I pull back.
Her eyes are wide. Lips flushed. Breath uneven.
I’m not sure mine is any steadier.
“We’re not rushing,” I say, voice rougher than I intended.
She nods.
Neither of us steps away.
The air feels charged. Like something coiled and waiting.
“This isn’t about timing anymore,” I say quietly.
“No,” she agrees.
“It’s about inevitability.”
She studies me.
“That’s a dangerous word.”
“Maybe.”
Upstairs, the house stays quiet. Maddie is asleep. Daisy is snoring.
Natalie presses her forehead lightly to mine.
“We’re doing this right,” she says.
“Yeah.”
But my hands are still on her waist.
And hers are still on my shoulders.
And when I finally step back, it’s not because I want to.
It’s because this matters too much to rush.
I watch her as she turns off the kitchen light.
My wife.
Not strategy.
Not optics.
Not fear.
Choice.
And for the first time since this started, I’m not thinking about custody.
