Page 58 of Unworthy Ties
“I don’t need an apology,” she whispered. “You came for me. That’s all that matters.”
Her words should have been enough, should have eased the storm inside me, but they only made it worse. Because it wasn’t just about coming for her. It was about everything she had come to mean to me in such a short, volatile time. My chest tightened as I searched for the right words, words that wouldn’t shatter in my throat.
I swallowed hard, my voice rough when I finally spoke. “Gabriella… you don’t understand. It’s more than that.”
Her brow furrowed, soft confusion in her gaze. She tilted her head slightly, waiting for me to go on, patient in a way that almost undid me.
I looked at her then, the dirt on her cheek, the wild tangle of her hair, the stubborn strength in her posture despite the terror she’d just lived through. My hand itched to reach out, to brush the hair from her face, to pull her closer just to prove to myself she was real.
But I held back, my hands curled into fists at my sides. Because once I touched her, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to let go.
Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, thick with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t. My chest ached with it. I forced a breath, my throat tight. “I was so scared,” I admitted finally, the words raw. “Not of them. Not of dying. Scared of losing you.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and for a second the world narrowed to nothing but her and the quick, shallow breaths between us.
She stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of her body reached me, even in the cool night air. Close enough that if I leaned just a fraction, our lips would meet.
But she didn’t push. She just stood there, steady, waiting. Letting me come to her.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if the words in my chest would destroy me—or save me.
Her hand lingered against my arm, light but steady, her touch anchoring me more than she could ever know. My resolve cracked. I had spent years mastering silence, swallowing emotion, keeping every weakness hidden behind a wall of iron. But with her, those walls didn’t hold. They crumbled like the scaffolding had, and all I could do was try to catch what fell.
The words clawed their way up before I could stop them. My voice was low, almost reverent, as if saying them too loudly might break the fragile stillness between us.
“I love you.”
As the weight of those three simple words settled around us, the world seemed to hold its breath. Time stretched taut, suspended in the fragile space between confession and response.
Her hand trembled against my arm, a silent echo of the tumult raging within her. I could see the war of emotions waging behind her eyes, the shadows of past scars and the flicker of newfound hope intertwining in a delicate dance.
I stood there, heart pounding in my chest, waiting for her to either push me away or pull me closer. The silence enveloped us like a cocoon, cocooning our shared vulnerability in a shield of unspoken understanding.
Finally, her voice, soft and fragile like a whisper of wind through the trees, broke the stillness.
“I love you too,” she breathed, her words carrying a weight that transcended their simplicity. It was a declaration of trust, of shared pain and shared healing, of the silent bond that had formed between us in the crucible of chaos.
And in those simple words, a flood of relief washed over me, mingled with a sense of joy so profound it was almost overwhelming. It was a moment of connection so pure, so genuine, that it felt like the entire world had paused to witness it.
Without another word, I closed the distance between us, wrapping her in a fierce embrace as if to anchor myself to this newfound truth. Her arms enveloped me in return, holding me close as if to assure me that she was real, that this moment was real.
In that moment, with her in my arms and her love surrounding me, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, our love a beacon of light guiding us through the darkest of times.
Epilogue
Gabriella
Icarefully positioned Giuseppe on the bathroom’s countertop, making sure his stuffed little body wouldn’t fall into the sink. Normally I don’t bring him into “dirty” spaces, but right now I needed his moral support.
My eyes flicked to the box on the counter, the glossy packaging screaming louder than I wanted it to. The bold letters, the promise of certainty in just a few minutes. Then to the cup I’d swiped from the kitchen—glass, not plastic, and definitely not meant for this. The thought of it sitting back in the cupboard one day made heat rush to my cheeks.
Ok, pee in a cup, wait for lines. Simple. Except it wasn’t. My cheeks burned, the ridiculousness of the entire process colliding with the weight of what it might mean.
I pressed my palms to the counter on either side of Giuseppe, drawing in a shaky breath. “You’d think I was about to defuse a bomb,” I muttered, my voice weak with nervous laughter.
As I steadied myself, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the moment. “Come on, it’s just a cup,” I said to Giuseppe, who stared back at me with that ever-encouraging little grin stitched across his fabric face.
I took another deep breath, as if summoning all the courage that lived within me and my plush companion. With a determined nod, I turned away from the mirror, ready to face the moment head-on.
