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I run my fingers through her hair, the words settling warm in my chest. “It’s easy because itissupposed to be this way. You belong here, Wildrose. With me. You always have.”

Charlie’s eyes soften, and she leans up to kiss me, her lips lingering against mine. When she pulls back, she grins. “Okay, Cheddar.”

“Cheddar?”

“Yeah. Because you’re so cheesy.”

I grimace and groan.

“You know you love it,” she says with a smile.

“I know I love you.”

By evening, the house is finally starting to look like a home instead of a storage unit. Charlie’s books fill the shelves, her yoga equipment tucked into a basket by the window, and her collection of quirky mugs now rivals my plain ones in the kitchen cabinet. We cook dinner together, bumping into each other in the small kitchen, laughing when I get flour on her nose.

After dinner, we settle on the couch with Sunshine sprawled between us, her tail wagging lazily. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up, but it’s the good kind of tired, the kind that comes from building something new together.

Charlie rests her head on my shoulder, her hand finding mine. “You know, I think this is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“Home?” I supply, my voice low.

She looks up at me, her eyes shining. “Yeah. Home.”

I press a kiss to her forehead, my heart swelling in a way I didn’t think was possible. “Welcome home, Wildrose.”

FORTY-EIGHT

Nick

The box is heavier than I remember.

It’s just a simple shoebox, tucked into the back of my closet for years, but carrying it now feels like holding a piece of my soul. The edges are scuffed, the lid slightly warped from being opened and closed more times than I can count. Inside are pieces of me I never intended anyone to see—letters I wrote to Charlie during the years we were apart, when I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how much she meant to me. Letters I never thought I’d share.

But things are different now.

I’m different now.

I find Charlie in the living room, curled up on the couch with Sunshine sprawled across her lap. She’s reading, one hand absentmindedly stroking the dog’s fur. She looks up as I approach, her smile immediate and radiant.

“Hey,” she says, closing her book and sitting up. Sunshine groans at being displaced but doesn’t move far, settling against Charlie’s thigh. “What’s that?”

I take a deep breath, setting the box on the coffee table in front of her. “Something I’ve been holding onto for a long time. Something I think it’s time for you to see.”

Her brow furrows, curiosity flickering across her face. “What is it?”

I sit beside her, close enough that our knees touch. My hands rest on the box, fingers tracing the worn edges. “Letters. I wrote them to, uh, to you… over the years. Mostly after the accident. Some from before. I never sent them because they say all the things I was afraid to tell you. Everything I should have said from the start.”

Charlie’s eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. She glances at the box, then back at me. “Nick…”

“I want you to read them,” I say, my voice steady but my chest tight. “Not because I want to dredge up the past, but because I want you to understand. To know how much you’ve always meant to me, even when I couldn’t say it out loud.”

Her hand covers mine, warm and steady. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

She opens the box slowly, like it holds something precious and fragile. Inside, the letters are neatly stacked, some on plain notebook paper, others on stationery I stole from my barracks. A few are on scraps of whatever I could find—a napkin, the back of a receipt, the margins of a map. They’re worn and creased, evidence of the countless times I read and reread them, editing in my head, wondering what she’d think if she ever saw them.

Charlie picks up the first letter, her fingers trembling slightly. She glances at me one last time, her eyes searching mine for reassurance. I nod again, and she unfolds the paper.

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