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“I let my fucking uterus—or lack of one—decide my value. I convinced myself I was broken, like I had nothing left to give, so I buried myself in grief and used Daddy’s death as a God damn smokescreen. Then the hysterectomy? That was the ammo I needed to push you out for good.”

Lou jabs my finger at me, voice shaking now. “I used it, Henry. I weaponized my pain and built a fortress with it, and you still kept showing up. Kept fucking standing there. Waiting for me.”

Her eyes glisten as she clenches her fist at her sides. “I made myself the martyr. I fed myself the lie that if I couldn’t give you a baby, I couldn’t give you a life. You know what’s worse? I let that lie keep me from the one God damn thing I’ve ever really wanted.” Her voice breaks on the last word trembling. “You.”

She stands there, trembling with everything she’s buried for years, and when her eyes finally meet mine, I swear to God—it hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

“I love you,” she said, voice wrecked and trembling. “But I love you enough to step back and let you have what you deserve.”

It guts me.

“That makes you a damned fool, Louisiana.” My voice is rough, uneven, like I’m dragging years of frustration and pain out of a hole I’ve been burying myself in. “Because what I deserve isn’t some perfect life or some shiny, polished version of happiness. It’s you. All of you. The scars, the fights, the messy, broken parts. Every damn piece. They are fucking mine, and you have spent the last ten years keeping them from me.”

I close the distance between us, chest tight, lungs burning like I’m holding my breath too long. The air thickens, heavy with everything we never said aloud—all the raw truths that lived in shadows between us.

“You carry more love in that fucked-up, beaten-down heart of yours than most folks carry in their whole damn bodies. Look at Dallas—you gave him all of you, even when it felt like there wasn’t anything left to give. That’s not weakness. That’s fucking strength. That’s who you are.”

My jaw clenches tight, and the weight of all those years, all the fights, all the silence and pain, crashes down. “I told you once—I was the gamble, never him.”

I grab her hand, rough fingers curling around hers like a lifeline. The calluses on my palm brush her skin, grounding me. It steadies me. It steadies us.

“So, I won’t have biological children? I don’t give a fuck about that. Biology doesn’t mean shit.” My voice cracks, raw and real. “It shouldn’t be the excuse to shove your love on a shelf like some damn decoration.”

My thumb moves slowly over her knuckles, every touch a promise. “You have so much love to offer and if you decide you want more kids, we’ll rescue the ones hidden in the darkest corners and raise them with grit and unconditional love. If you don’t, I don’t give a damn. Me, you, Dallas—that’s everything I need.”

My voice drops to a ragged whisper, “Because you? You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. The only thing that’s ever mattered.”

I lean in, the world narrowing until it’s just us, breath mingling, raw and real. My eyes catch the light in hers—wet and wild. “Not what you can give. Not what you can’t. Just you, wildflower, in every fucking way I can get you.”

Without warning, she yanks me down, her lips crashing against mine—fierce, desperate, and full of everything we both needed.

When we finally break apart, I grin, nodding to her finger. “So, here’s what’s going to happen—you’re moving in, and that ring? It’s getting swapped out for a real one.”

She blinks, completely unsurprised. “You aren’t even going to ask?”

I shake my head, a smirk pulling at my lips. “Hell no. We’ll hit the justice of the peace first thing tomorrow and make it official.”

She gives me that look—the one that says you crazy motherfucker—but her eyes are soft, full of something that wraps tight around my ribs. “I love you, Henry Wilder,” she whispers, voice edged with wonder and something deeper.

“I love you too, wildflower,” I say, the words low and rough, scraped straight from the bone. They’re not just a confession—they’re a claim. My hand slips into her hair, slow and deliberate, curling tight at the base of her neck as I pull her to me, mouths just a breath apart.

“You’ve run long enough,” I murmur, voice like gravel and heat. “No more hiding. No more holding back.”

I drag my eyes over her, hungry and unrelenting. “Now take off those clothes.”

A beat of silence hangs thick between us before I lean in, lips grazing her ear.

“I want that pathetic little scrap of fabric you call panties in my hand. Tonight, I want every inch of you—bare, open, mine.”

I tug again, firmer this time, just enough to make her gasp.

“Show me how deep it goes, wildflower. That love you swear you’ve carried all this time. Show it to me, and fucking give it to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

DON’T BUST A NUT ON THE GOOD TOWELS

LOUISIANA