She looks around.
At the flowers.
At everything she built for herself.
She meets my eyes.
“It feels like mine.”
That hits.
Harder than I expect.
“Good,” I say.
Because she deserves that.
She steps closer.
Slow.
Intentional.
“You stayed,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
There it is.
The question.
I step in.
Close.
No space left.
“Because it’s you.”
No hesitation.
“I care about you. More than I should.”
Her breath catches.
She searches my face.
Won’t find doubt.
“Good,” she whispers.
“Good?”