Page 89 of Dare to Hold
And I know she doesn’t just mean the music.
I pull back, just enough to see her face, and my breath catches.
Tears have carved soft trails down her cheeks, catching in the glow of the hallway lights. And without thinking, I lift my sleeve and gently wipe them away.
She doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t apologize or laugh it off.
She just closes her eyes and lets me be there with her. The real her.
And for a second, I forget every voice, every sound, every person around us.
When her eyes open again, they’re full of something unspoken.
She parts her lips.
Then stops.
Whatever it is, she tucks it away with a small, shaky nod.
And I get it.
Some things don’t need to be said, yet.
Some things need room to bloom slowly.
And if it’s with her, I’ll wait as long as it takes.
And somehow, that silence means more than any words ever could.
Because I see it.
In her eyes. In her steady breath. In the way she doesn’t try to hide the emotion streaking across her face.
She’s not running from it. Not pretending it didn’t hit her just as hard.
And I think, I know, we’re standing in something sacred right now.
Not because it’s neat or tidy or easy.
But because it’s honest. And because God’s in it.
Layer by layer, moment by moment, He’s building something here. Something I never saw coming but now can’t imagine letting go.
And with Ivy right in front of me, still holding on, I don’t want to.
I look at her and it nearly undoes me.
The way she lets me see all of it. The side of her no one else gets.
“Ivy…” My voice comes out lower than I meant, thick with something I don’t have words for. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”
Her breath catches.
We’re not alone. Not even close. The room hums with movement—volunteers winding down, families reuniting, music still threading through the air.
She doesn’t say anything.
