Page 258 of Let Me In

I don’t move.

And neither does he.

The cabin is still wrapped in early morning hush. Just the pop of a coal shifting in the woodstove. The faint brush of wind against the windows.

But his arms…

His hold is everything—solid and warm, a quiet tether pulling all my scattered pieces home.

Wrapped around me like he’s not just holding me—but keeping me.

Like he’s memorizing the shape of this moment.

“I hate that this was always going to catch up with you,” I whisper, voice barely holding.

“It didn’t catch up,” he murmurs. “I turned around.”

I pull back just far enough to look at him.

His eyes are clear. Calm. No storm. No dread. Just… acceptance.

“Does it scare you?” I ask.

“Not anymore.”

He brushes my hair behind my ear, slow and gentle.

“I’m not going because I’m afraid,” he says. “I’m going because I’m done. And I want what comes after to be clean.”

My throat aches.

“And us?” I ask, small.

His jaw softens.

“You’re not part of after, baby. You’re the why.”

A sound breaks from my chest then. Not a sob. Not quite.

He cups my cheek, thumb smoothing under my eye.

“I spent half my life disappearing,” he says softly. “But I’m not doing that now. Not from you.”

I nod, blinking fast.

His voice lowers.

“You are the only reason I’ve got something to come home to.”

He lets that sit.

Lets me feel it.

Lets the truth of it press into the cracks that still haven’t healed in me.

“Don’t know how I’m going to sleep without you,” I admit. Not to guilt. Just the truth. I say it into the crook of his neck as I try to burrow deeper.

“In our bed, baby. You’ll sleep in our bed, and you’ll hear my voice before you sleep.”

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