I tilt my head, watching her.
“What did you expect.”
She laughs quietly. “Honestly? I expected to survive. Maybe leave. Maybe start over somewhere else.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” she says, her gaze flicking back to me. “I didn’t.”
I don’t ask why.
I know.
“You stayed,” I say.
“Yeah.”
Her hand slides up from her stomach to my chest, resting there, right over my heart.
“I stayed,” she repeats.
I reach up, covering her hand with mine, holding it there.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her.
It’s not a question.
It never has been.
She looks at me like she used to, like she’s deciding whether to fight it.
She doesn’t.
“Not a chance,” she says.
Good.
I glance back at the kids again, watching as they finally make it to the top branch, both of them shouting like they just conquered something.
They did.
Then I look back at her.
At the woman who walked into my life and refused to be anything less than exactly who she was.
At the woman who made me realize that protecting someone isn’t about control.
It’s about choosing them.
Every time.
There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for her.
Not one.
“You came to me because you needed protection,” I say.
Her brows knit slightly. “You’re getting sentimental. That’s dangerous.”
