But I did.
I understood with a clarity that felt like falling.
Gideon had done more for me in three months than anyone had in years. Fed me when I refused. Held me when I broke. Protected me when wolves circled. Let me go when staying meant keeping me in danger. Destroyed his hand—his career, his everything—without hesitation.
For me.
My chest ached. Not with gratitude. With longing. With a truth I'd been too stubborn to name.
I loved him.
Not the contract. Not the safety. Not even the pleasure that left me trembling.
Him.
The man who'd held me through nightmares. Who'd bathed me with hands more gentle than I deserved. Who'd asked about my mother's favorite books and listened like the answer mattered. Who'd looked at me this morning and said don't come back because keeping me safe mattered more than keeping me his.
I stood abruptly.
The chair scraped.
"I have to go."
My father reached for me, weak fingers grasping.
"Belle—"
"I'll be back." My voice broke. "I promise. But right now?—"
I couldn't finish. Because right now, I needed to find the man I'd left bleeding in an empty house. Before he convinced himself I was better off without him.
I squeezed his hand once more. Not goodbye. Not forgiveness either. Just acknowledgment.
"I'll come back tomorrow. But I'm done being your shield. You have to face what you've done. I can't carry it anymore."
His mouth opened. Closed. Worked soundlessly for breath or protest—I didn't wait to find out which.
I pulled my hand free. Gentle. Final.
For the first time in my life, I walked away while he was still reaching for me.
The door whispered shut behind me. The hallway stretched ahead—too bright, too clean, too empty. My shoes squeaked against linoleum. Nurses moved past without seeing me. A doctor checked a chart. Someone's family laughed softly in a waiting room.
Life continued.
Mine would too.
My shoulders shook. Not with sobs. With the strange, unsettling relief of finally setting something down.
I pressed a hand to my mouth. Kept walking. Focused on the exit sign glowing green at the end of the corridor.
One foot.
Then the other.
My chest ached, but not with the crushing weight I'd carried for years.
This was different.
