Chapter Sixty Three
Camille
Icouldn’t stop smiling as I listened to the kids race to the door, their voices overlapping in excited greetings when Hunter stepped inside. The familiar sound of their laughter mixed with his low chuckle filled the apartment, wrapping around me like sunlight.
I stood at the stove, stirring the pan of his favorite tacos, when I felt him come up behind me—his arms sliding around my waist, his warmth pressing against my back. He kissed my cheek, the kind of touch that still made my heart flutter no matter how ordinary the moment seemed.
I never expected to find myself here, in a place where my heart didn’t feel like it was always about to combust. For so long, love felt like a trap, a promise people made, then left behind when my life got too heavy.
I told myself I didn’t need it. That I could raise my kids, build a life, and keep my walls high enough that no one could reach me, no one could hurt me again.
But Hunter proved me wrong.
He came into my life steadfast and patient. Never demanding, never rushing. Somehow, without even noticing, I started to let him in. Piece by piece. Moment by moment.
It wasn’t easy. The hardest part wasn’t loving him, it was believing I could be loved back.
I carried so much hurt, so many old wounds, that I pushed people away before they could leave me.
Like the night he called, wanting to talk, and I rushed him off the phone because I’d been crying over bills and broken promises.
My instinct was always to retreat, to hide.
But Hunter didn’t let my walls scare him.
He didn’t chase or demand. He just kept showing up, steady, until I started to believe I was safe.
He saved me, not with grand gestures or movie moments, but in the quiet, ordinary ways that matter most. He saved me by getting down on the floor with Zeke, teaching him how to trust again.
By letting the twins climb all over him, laughing as they turned his push-ups into a game.
By looking at me in a way that made me believe I was still worth loving.
By being there on days when I felt the stress swallow me whole, offering words of reassurance.
With him, I learned to be more than the mom who just kept things running. I became a better mother, but also a lighter one. A more joyful one. I laughed louder. Played longer. Let myself sink into the little things, bedtime stories, Lego castles, as if each moment was something to hold onto.
I’ll never be untouched by pain. My scars ran deep, and some days the shadows still creep in.
But Hunter showed me that scars don’t make us unlovable.
That love isn’t about being perfect, it’s about showing up, even when things are messy.
In loving Hunter, I’ve learned to be gentle with myself, to remember it’s okay not to have it all figured out.
That kindness, even to myself, is part of healing.
And maybe that’s what love really is. Not someone swooping in to fix the cracks, but someone holding your hand while you rebuild yourself. Someone reminding you, day after day, that you don’t have to carry it all alone.
Hunter didn’t just love me. He helped me remember how to love myself again. And that is how he saved me.