“We will,” I said, and it made him laugh, bright and unguarded. “But we’ll be together. That’s what matters.”
We stayed like that, anchored to each other, while the world outside blurred and washed clean.
Eventually, Carter’s stomach growled, and he broke the hug to raid the fridge. I watched him pile up cheese and bread and leftover steak, the domesticity of it making my heart pound so hard I thought it might break something loose inside me.
He looked over his shoulder. “You going to stand there all day, or are you going to help?”
I moved to his side, took the knife from his hand, and sliced the bread, slow and even, while he layered on the rest. We worked in sync, no wasted motion, just the small rituals of people who’d decided to be less alone.
The kitchen filled with the smell of food and rain, and when we sat down again, it felt different than before. Like maybe, just maybe, the three of us could make something out of the wreckage.
I caught his eye, and he held my gaze, steady and sure.
“Welcome home,” I said.
He smiled, and this time, it wasn’t sad at all.
