Laney
I’m folding clothes when Saint comes back inside.
He pauses in the doorway when he sees me.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“I know,” I reply. “But I need to feel useful.”
He nods like he understands.
Maybe he does.
We stand there for a moment.
Awkward.
So much sitting between us that neither of us knows what to say.
“So…” I start.
Then stop.
He waits.
Patient.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” I say quietly.
“I do,” he replies. “As long as you need.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
That’s the problem.
I look down at my hands.
“I never planned for any of this.”
“Neither did I.”
Silence settles between us again.
Then he says softly—
“But I’m glad she happened.”
My heart stutters.
I look up.
He isn’t looking at me.
He’s looking at her.
“I am too,” I whisper.
And in that moment I realize something else.
I’m not scared of him.
I’m scared of what trusting him would mean.