Hardin says nothing, and I keep going.
“He’d make everything sound so reasonable. Like he was helping. Like he just wanted me to be better. A better mom. A better wife. A better everything. He’d say I was too emotional, too defensive, too intense. He’d call it concern. Or guidance. Or love. And I’d swallow it. Every single time.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until my voice catches. I wipe my cheek roughly, angry at the salt on my skin.
“I left because of Mari. Not because I suddenly grew a spine. Not because I saw the truth. Just because he started turning that tone on her. And I couldn’t unhear it once it happened. I packed our lives into four boxes, left while he was at work, and drove until I couldn’t feel the weight of him in the air.”
Hardin still hasn’t said anything, but he’s stepped closer. Close enough that I can feel his heat now, not just his presence. It curls around me like a shield.
“I thought she’d be safe here,” I whisper. “I thought I was keeping her safe. But now there’s magic and marks on her skin and old secrets I don’t understand, and I feel like the ground’s shifting every time I find my footing.”
“You are keeping her safe,” he says, voice low and rough. “You’re fighting harder than most would’ve dared.”
I shake my head. “I’m flailing. I’m reading spells like bedtime stories and hoping my blood knows what the hell it’s doing.”
He turns toward me slowly, and I glance up, startled to find his eyes already on mine.
“You’re standing in the fire,” he says. “Not running from it. That counts.”
The air stills between us, and something thick settles in the silence. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just full.
I reach out, fingers brushing the back of his hand where it rests on the railing. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. His skin is warm and calloused, and I press my palm flat against it, grounding myself there.
“I think I forgot what it felt like,” I say.
“What?”
“To be seen.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and the quiet between us grows sharp.
“I see you,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes my breath catch.
I shift toward him, just slightly, just enough to bring our bodies into each other’s gravity. My heart thuds louder than it should. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to lean in this much without bracing for pain.
Hardin watches me. His jaw clenches. His hand curls gently around mine, and I feel the way he holds still. Not because he’s unsure, but because he’s sure, and he’s waiting for me to choose.
So I lean closer, until we’re only a breath apart.
But then I stop.
Because I’m not ready for more. Not tonight. Not yet.
He doesn’t step back. He doesn’t move at all. He just stays there, letting me have the moment.
And then, slowly, I press my forehead to his chest, let my body fold into his, and feel his arms wrap around me with the kind of care that doesn’t demand anything in return.
I stay there longer than I mean to. I don’t want to leave the space between us. Not when it finally feels like something real.
When I do pull back, he lets me go with quiet grace, hands falling to his sides.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods.
Then he turns, walks back into the night, and leaves the warmth of his touch behind like an ember I’m not ready to put out.
CHAPTER 12
