“I understand what you’ve been through, Loretta,” he said. “But you are not going to turn your pain into a sentence you serve for the rest of your life because of what your father did.”
His hand tightened over mine—firmer now, not painful, but impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly closer.
The mattress dipped more under his weight, and I felt it immediately.
His thigh brushed mine through the fabric of my dress, brief but deliberate enough to make my breath catch.
“You can’t deny what losing your sight has taken from you,” Rafael said quietly, as if he were presenting an argument in a boardroom rather than dissecting my life.
My spine stiffened.
He continued anyway.
“Simple things—navigating new spaces, reading expressions, protecting yourself from people like that man at the club.”
My jaw tightened at the reminder.
“The surgery is reversible,” he added, calm and absolute. “Let’s do it.”
The words fell between us like a verdict already signed.
A decision waiting for my approval.
I swallowed hard, my hands still enclosed in his.
His grip hadn’t changed since he took them—warm, steady, inescapably present.
“I...” My voice faltered, then steadied with effort. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
A pause.
Then I forced the truth out before I could lose courage.
“Darkness has been my cage,” I said quietly, fingers curling slightly within his hold, “but it’s also been my shield. I’m not sure I know how to live without it anymore.”
His thumb moved across the back of my hand.
A single, controlled stroke.
It was such a small gesture that it should have meant nothing.
But it didn’t.
It grounded me in a way I didn’t expect.
“You won’t have to face it alone,” he said finally.
His voice had lowered slightly now. “But hiding in the dark forever isn’t living, Loretta. It’s surviving.”
The word hit harder than I expected.
Surviving.
Because that was what my life had always been.
Not living. Not choosing.
