Tears blurred her vision.
“I do not want a future without you in it.”
Her voice came, though it shook.
“You are certain?”
“I have never been more so.”
She smiled through her tears.
“I am not perfect.”
“I know.”
“I am not always easy.”
“I have noticed.”
A laugh broke from her.
“And still—”
“And still,” he said.
Elizabeth drew a breath.
And chose.
“Yes.”
The word settled between them.
Certain.
Unshakable.
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, as though absorbing it, then drew her toward him.
And when he kissed her—
Everything she had held back, everything she had feared, everything she had dared to hope—
broke free.
Elizabeth did not hesitate.
She met him fully.
And in that moment—
She knew.
She had never been so happy.
For a moment after he kissed her, Elizabeth could not speak.
It was not from uncertainty, nor from any lingering hesitation, but from the simple impossibility of containing all that she felt within the bounds of words. The world, which had seemed so full a moment before, had narrowed entirely to the space between them—the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his presence, the unmistakable certainty that what had just passed was not a dream, nor a fragile hope to be guarded, but a truth she might claim without fear.
