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“I remember the first time I saw you on the TV,” she whispered, squeezing the excess water over the bucket. “I almost jumped out of my seat.” A fragile smile stretched her lips as she dragged the damp rag over my collarbone, the lavender scent from the soap blooming in the space between us. “You looked so different,” she murmured, kneeling over me as she cleaned a path up my arm.

“But you recognised me?” I murmured, ignoring the way I struggled to keep my eyes open. I hated glancing down and seeing how thin I had become. I was a big guy, yet I was losing muscle mass every day, to the point where I had no energy to stay awake like I had in the beginning. All I did was sleep until Evie came down.

“I did,” she whispered, her cheeks turning pink as she peeked down at me through a curtain of hair.

“What gave me away?” I asked as she knelt down and dunked the rag back into the bucket.

“Your eyes,” she whispered.

“Just my eyes?” I murmured, a tired grin spreading across my face.

“Yeah—I…you looked into the camera and I just…knew.”

“Mm?” I hummed.

“Did you—did you…recognise me?” she whispered, leaning in as she brought the rag to my chest. I swallowed, looking up into her big, beautiful, green eyes.

“Yeah,” I murmured.

“Even when I look so…” she whispered, glancing down at herself as she absentmindedly dragged the rag over my collarbone.

“Beautiful,” I mused before she looked down to hide her smile. “You look so beautiful, Evie.”

January 11th, 1993

“I want to go to the beach,” she murmured.

I turned my head toward her, seeing her silhouette beside me, her lithe fingers tracing the large eagle tattoo on my ribs. Her hair was so long, she was sitting on it, and her cheeks were gaunt and sallow—but Evie still managed to smile, creeping downstairs while Wayne showered. “I want to feel the sand again,” she mused. “And the water. Not this…place anymore.”

I swallowed, something tight settling in my chest. “You always liked the water.”

She let out a small breath, almost surprised. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” I reassured her.

“I want to go with you,” she said.

I shifted, the chain pulling tight for a second before I adjusted, ignoring the flare of pain. I moved closer anyway, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.

“Evie,” I murmured. She didn’t look at me right away. “I’m not going anywhere.” She turned then, her eyes finding mine in the dim light. “If that’s what you want,” I added, quieter now. “If you still want me…after everything. After how long it’s been, I’ll be here.” I exhaled slowly, shaking my head slightly. “But…you don’t owe me anything,” I said quickly. “Not after all this.”

That mattered. She needed to know that. I wanted her to choose. I wasn't expecting to just walk out of here and one day call her my wife. But fuck, how I wanted that. I wanted it all with her. The kids, the white picket fence, the cheesy holiday cards, dancing in the kitchen, kissing in the rain, and holding her in my arms after a long day. “But if you do,” I went on, holding her gaze, “if you still want…us…” My throat tightened for a second, but I pushed through it. “I’m here.”

Her fingers shifted against my ribcage as she slid her arm across and rested her head against my chest. The weight of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her against me made those butterflies swarm in my stomach, just like all those years ago. “With you,” she whispered. “I want a life with you.” I grinned and let my forehead rest lightly against hers, blinking away the sting behind my eyes.

“Then we get out,” I said, my voice low but steady. “And we go to the beach.”

January 13th, 1993

The days blurred and blended into one another. I couldn’t tell what day of the week it was or how much time had passed—it didn't seem to matter anymore. My main priority was Evie. She’d managed to sneak down here a few times while Wayne was out, feeding me, bringing me water, and keeping me sane. She’d rest her head on my shoulder and ask me all sorts of questions, while I did my best to keep it together when she told me about her first few months here, recalling horrific tales of abuse, stories that made my hair stand up on end and carved a hole in my chest.

Because I loved her.

Not some distant version of her I loved before, but the Evie I saw in that moment.

The Evie who laughed like the sound shocked her. The Evie who lay against my chest and told me everything, even when it upset her. The Evie who snuck down into the basement to tell me what colour the sunset was that day. The Evie who asked me what my life was like on the outside, and what Ollie would be doing if he was here.

How could I not love her?