Page 223 of Bound By Crimson
Not even hope.
Just something that didn’t hurt.
And sometimes, when the nights were quietest and her chest ached the most, she caught herself wondering…
Did he feel it too?
He started opening up more.
Not in a dramatic way—just bits and pieces, shared slowly over time.
He told her about Miami.
About the big house he bought too early—thinking marriage and kids would follow.
“But they never did,” he said one night. “Maybe I’ve worked too much—built something for nothing. I always believed in fate. That when the time is right, the perfect person would come along.”
Lyric asked quietly, heart pounding even though she tried to sound casual.
“What’s she like? Your perfect person? And what kind of dreams do you have… for a family?”
He let out a quiet breath, and for a second, she thought he might not answer.
Then, gently—
“Well… no one’s ever really asked me that before.”
“A wife with a soft laugh. Kind eyes. Christmas mornings with wrapping paper everywhere and cinnamon rolls burning in the oven. Laughter echoing down halls too big to be empty. I own a house on the ocean. I want beach days and barbecues—kids building sandcastles in the sand. But mostly, I want a family filled with love. So much love.”
“I’d give it all up,” he added. “The work, the house—everything. It means nothing without someone to share it with. I never had that growing up…”
He trailed off.
Lyric pressed her hands against the stone wall.
She didn’t mean to.
She just needed to feel something.
She didn’t talk much.
Not about herself.
But one night, when the moon was low and the garden smelled like cold roses, he asked:
“Do you ever think about what you want? What your life would look like—if things were different?”
She didn’t answer right away.
She didn’t even breathe.
But then, softly—almost like a secret:
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then, barely louder:
