Page 60 of The One Who Changed Everything

I swallowed hard, fighting the overwhelming urge to push back. To stand my ground. I had spent so many years relyingon myself because I had no other choice. But now, I did. And I didn’t know how to let go.

“It’s not your responsibility,” I whispered, though my voice wavered.

His hands tightened ever so slightly around mine, grounding me, steadying me. “Yes, it is. She’s my daughter, Sam. And even if she weren’t, I’d still want to do this. I need to do this. I want to take care of both of you.”

Tears blurred my vision. A lump swelled in my throat, thick with emotions I wasn’t sure how to process. Relief. Overwhelming gratitude. Fear of depending on someone when I’d spent so long learning how to survive alone. I shook my head, trying to find the right words. “Evan, it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” he countered, his voice firm but filled with so much tenderness it almost undid me. “And even if it was, I wouldn’t care.”

Before I could argue, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, and pressed it gently into my palm. His fingers lingered, his warmth seeping into me like an unspoken vow. “It’s already paid for.”

I stared at him, then at the paper in my hands, my heart pounding. “What?”

“It’s taken care of,” he said simply, his voice steady, unwavering. “Turns out there is a program that covers medical costs for kids who need devices like this. No out-of-pocket expenses, no strings attached. She has an appointment scheduled for next week.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped me—part relief, part exasperation, all love. My chest felt too tight, my heart too full. “You’re serious? Some charitable organization just swooped in and paid for it?”

Evan nodded, his expression the perfect picture of innocence. “Pretty amazing, right?”

Something in his voice made me narrow my eyes. I unfolded the paper, scanning the details until my gaze caught on a familiar name. Mercer Foundation—Sophia’s Smiles Program.

I froze. My stomach dipped.

I lifted my gaze slowly, and Evan’s lips twitched like he was really fighting a smile.

Oh. Oh.

“You—” My voice cut off as realization slammed into me. “Evan.”

His grin finally broke through, sheepish but entirely unapologetic. “Technically, there is a charity organization.”

I let out a breath, half a laugh, half something close to a choked sob. “You are the charity organization!”

He shrugged, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like that tiny bit of contact might soften the absolute audacity of what he’d just done. “I mean, technically… I may have started a charitable foundation since I needed to find a good way to use my trust fund, and I wanted to cover the renovation of the library for you. And I might have also specifically started a program for kids like Sophia once I found out what was going on.”

“Evan Mercer.”

“Okay, fine. I paid for hers myself,” he admitted, his grin turning just a little cocky. “And I just named the program after our daughter. But in my defense, it is for kids like her. No parent should have to worry about how to pay for something that could save their child’s life.”

I stared at him, my heart a complete and utter mess. “You really did this?”

His expression softened, all teasing fading into something more real, more breathtaking. “Yeah, Sam. I did.”

I glanced at Sophia, who was practically vibrating in her seat, her wide eyes darting between us like she couldn’t decide if shewas in trouble or about to witness the most romantic moment of her life.

I exhaled hard and shook my head. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Evan leaned in, brushing his lips against my forehead, lingering like he wanted to pour every unspoken promise into that one touch. When he pulled back, his voice was a hushed murmur, deep and certain. “But I did. What’s the point of having resources if I can’t take care of my girls?”

I inhaled sharply, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

My girls.

It wasn’t just about the money. It wasn’t just about fixing a problem. It was the way he saw us—his instinct to provide, to love without hesitation or condition. It was the quiet, relentless way he showed up, proving over and over again that he was here to stay.

This was love. Not just spoken, not just promised—but proven.

My fingers curled around the paper, my throat too tight to speak for a long moment. But when I finally looked up, meeting his gaze, I saw nothing but quiet determination. Devotion. A man who had already decided that we were his future, and nothing—not even my stubbornness—was going to change that.

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