Chapter 39
Collins
We arrived home just as the sky began to soften into evening. The moment we stepped inside, I saw Anna’s eyes brighten, like something inside her had been gently switched back on. She took in the widened doorways, the open spaces, the way the furniture curved around her instead of boxing her in.
She blinked hard.
“You did all this for me?” she asked quietly.
I moved behind her chair, my hands resting on the handles. “I’m not just changing a house, Anna. I’m building my life around you.”
She swallowed, nodding once, like she was afraid that if she spoke again, she’d cry.
“Come,” I said softly. “Let me take you to your room.”
We stopped in front of the elevator. Her head tilted back as she stared up at it.
“You have an elevator in your home?”
“I do now.”
“When did you…”
“Two weeks ago. For you.”
Her eyes slid back to me, full of questions. “So, you planned this… long before today?”
I leaned closer. “I planned it the day you told me you loved me. The day I walked out of that room, I knew.” My voice lowered. “This is my future. You are my future.”
Her breath shook. “While I thought you had abandoned me… you were preparing a home for me?”
“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” I said gently. “You were healing. I didn’t want my love to feel like another weight on your shoulders.”
I rolled her into the elevator. It was wide enough for her chair—and for me to stand close beside her. The doors slid shut quietly, lifting us upward like a promise.
When they opened, I guided her into her room.
She gasped. “Wow…this is beautiful.”
“This is your room.”
“Mine,” she repeated, as if testing the word.
“It will be ours eventually,” I said softly. “But for now, I want you to have your space. My room is right next door—whenever you need me.”
The room was wide and calm, light spilling in through large windows. I opened the next door.
“This is your walk-in closet. You’ll be able to move around freely in here.”
She rolled inside slowly, taking it all in, her fingers brushing the smooth walls.
Then I showed her the ensuite—open, bright, with a deep jacuzzi-style bath, a wide bench, and sturdy railings.
Her voice came out small. “This is is so beautiful.”
I watched her more than the room. The way her shoulders relaxed. The way hope crept back into her posture.
“It’s not the room that matters,” I said quietly. “It’s you being in it.”
“There’s one more thing.” I opened the glass doors.
A balcony stretched out before her, the ocean rolling endlessly beyond it. The air carried salt and wind and freedom.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“The sea…” she breathed.
“So, you’ll never feel trapped,” I said. “You can come out here whenever you want. Morning, night…whenever you need to remember how big the world still is.”
Her eyes shimmered. She rolled closer to the balcony, letting the breeze brush her face.
“I didn’t know homes could feel like this,” she whispered.
“They feel like this,” I said, “when they’re built for love.”
“Let’s go eat,” I said softly, turning her wheelchair toward the elevator.
I rolled her to the table I’d specially arranged for her—low, wide, and close enough that she wouldn’t have to stretch or struggle. Zelda laid out the food beautifully: warm dishes, soft bread, colours that made the room feel alive. I took the seat opposite her.
We started eating in silence that wasn’t awkward—just full. Full of everything we didn’t say yet.
I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“What?” she asked, her fork frozen halfway to her lips.
“I’ve never looked at a woman the way I looked at you that night,” I said.
Her brows pulled together slightly. “What do you mean?”
“The first night we met. At the bar. Your bachelorette party.”
Her lips curved into a slow smile. “So… you did notice me.”
“Of course I did,” I said. “You didn’t see it? I kept forcing myself to look away—and the second you weren’t looking at me, I looked right back. I was drawn to you in a way that didn’t make sense.” I swallowed. “But you were someone else’s. And that suck more than it should have.”
She lowered her fork.
“I never imagined I’d see you again,” I went on. “Especially not like that—on a theatre table, silent. That broke something in me.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said softly, “I was attracted to you too. But I was about to get married. The guilt was louder than everything else. I told myself I had to erase you from my mind that night.”
“Seriously?” I asked, stunned. Then I gave a small, breathless laugh. “I guess the universe really wanted us to meet again. It just chose the most painful way possible.”
She smiled. “Maybe it needed to break us first… so we could find each other the right way.”
She tilted her head. “So—who was the last woman you dated?”
I shrugged. “If I should count middle school, then there were only two women I ever dated.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” I said. “The last one was in my first year of med school. After that, I married my studies. Then my job.”
She stared at me like I’d just told her I was from another planet.
“I’ve never wanted anyone in my life the way I wanted you,” I said quietly. I reached across the table and covered her hands with mine. “Not ever.”
“Dr. Collins,” Zelda called out, her voice carrying from the doorway. “I just took everything out of the car for Miss. Mathews. Where should I put this jar?”
She was holding the jar with the beads.
“Put it in her room,” I said, my mind already spinning. Then I turned back to her and added, “Actually… that reminds me. I need to do something first.” I moved to her wheelchair and gently rolled her toward the elevator.
“Where are we going?” she asked, a curious lift in her brow.
I didn’t answer, letting the elevator doors close softly around us.
When we reached the top floor, I wheeled her into the room, my hands tightening slightly on the handles.
I retrieved some extra beads from the shelf and held another small diamond between my fingers—one I had purchased to mark our fifth month.
“I meant to put this in your jar,” I said, holding the beads and the tiny diamond out to her. “These…these are the days I missed.”
Her eyes widened as I handed her the diamond. “This marks the fifth month of loving you.”
She looked at the delicate stone, a faint smile curving her lips. “Diamonds are expensive…why would you do this?”
“It’s a small one,” I said softly. “Just one per month. And your dad… he told me you love them.”
Her gaze softened, and for a moment the weight of everything else, the past months, the pain, the distance, seemed to lift.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, glancing down. “Did you buy these slippers too?”
I nodded.
“They’re expensive.”
“Nothing is expensive when it comes to you.”
Her eyes softened. “You’re my greatest gift,” she whispered, pulling me down into a hug.
I held her close, feeling her against me. When she pulled back, her voice was softer.
“I want to take a bath.”
“Let me help you,” I said immediately.
“That would be nice,” she replied, relief evident in her tone.
I filled the bathtub, the warm water rising and carrying the scent of bubbles and lavender.
Gently, I helped her ease into the tub, careful not to jostle her in any way.
She sank into the water with a soft sigh, and I handed her a sponge, beginning to help her wash, starting from her shoulders, slowly moving to her arms and back.
Every movement was careful: meant to comfort her and show her she was cared for.
Her eyes met mine briefly, a mixture of trust and something deeper flickering there. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I could make some of the pain melt away—just by being here, present, and giving her the space to feel cherished again.