Page 100 of Unbound
"I thought..." she started, then stopped, looking uncertain. "I thought you might want something alive in here. Something that doesn't need much water or attention, but still grows."
Jesse stared at the plant for a long moment, then reached out with a shaking hand to touch one of the leaves. It was the first time I'd seen him willingly touch anything besides my hand.
"It's perfect," he said quietly.
"I know we need to talk," Rebecca said, settling into her chair. "About everything. But I wanted you to know first—I'm so sorry, Jesse. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to fight harder."
Jesse's eyes filled with tears. "You tried to warn me. You told me they were planning something."
"I should have done more. I should have—"
"Rebecca." Jesse's voice was stronger than I'd heard it in days. "You risked everything to testify. You gave up your family, your church, everything you'd ever known. For me. How is that not enough?"
She was crying now, ugly sobs that shook her whole body. "Because you're in here. Because they hurt you anyway. Because I failed you."
"You didn't fail me. The system failed us both."
I watched them—these two people who'd been trapped in the same lie, who'd been forced to pretend to love each other to survive. There was something beautiful and terrible about their bond, forged in shared deception and mutual protection.
"I keep thinking about that debate," Rebecca said eventually. "How you looked when you were arguing. I'd never seen you like that before—so passionate, so certain. Like you finally knew what you believed instead of just repeating what you'd been told."
"I remember."
"And then when you kissed him..." She paused, wiping her eyes. "I wasn't surprised. Heartbroken for what it meant for both of us, but not surprised. I'd been watching you pretend for three years, Jesse. I knew you weren't in love with me."
"Rebecca—"
"Let me finish. I spent years feeling guilty that I couldn't love you the right way. But seeing you now, seeing how much lighter you look even after everything you've been through—I finally understand. We weren't broken. We just weren't meant for each other. And that's okay. That's actually beautiful."
Jesse was crying again, but these were different tears. Relief, maybe. Or hope.
"I do love you," he told her. "Not romantically, but I do love you. You're my family."
"You're mine too. Always." Rebecca wiped her eyes. "We're goingto be okay, Jesse. Both of us. Different than we planned, but okay."
"Promise?"
"Promise. We survived this much, didn't we? We can survive figuring out who we really are too."
The next day, Rebecca brought photos—old ones from before everything fell apart. Pictures of them at church events, family dinners, moments when they'd both been playing their parts perfectly.
"I used to hate these," she said, spreading them across Jesse's hospital table. "All I could see was the lie. But now... I don't know. We were still us, even then. Just buried under all the expectations."
Jesse picked up a photo from last Christmas—the two of them in matching sweaters, smiling for the camera. "We look so young."
"We were young. We still are, I guess. Young enough to start over."
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified. But also excited? I have no idea what I want to do with my life now that I don't have to plan it around marrying you and having babies." Rebecca laughed, and for the first time, it sounded genuine. "Maybe I'll travel after I finish school. Maybe I'll figure out what I actually like instead of what I'm supposed to like."
"You'll be amazing at whatever you choose."
"So will you." Rebecca reached over and squeezed his hand. "We both will."
That evening, after Rebecca left, Jesse was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, "She's going to be okay."
"How do you know?"
