So I went back.
Buddy heard me first, his paws rushing across the floor before I even opened the door. Callahan stood in the kitchen, turning toward me the second I stepped inside.
“Merry… you came back.”
“How did you know it was me?” I asked.
He smiled faintly. “Buddy told me. My heart confirmed it.”
He stepped forward, uncertain, reaching.
I caught his wrist before he stumbled.
He stilled.
Then gently, carefully, he found my face again.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I know,” he said.
This time, I believed him.
Then I smelled something burning.
I turned.
“Callie… the stove.”
He frowned. “What?”
The omelet was already black.
I laughed—really laughed—for the first time since the night before. Buddy barked, Callahan laughed too, and something in the room shifted.
Not fixed.
But real.
“The kitchen is mine now,” I said.
He nodded like it was the most serious agreement we had ever made.
And maybe it was.
Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t hiding.
Not from him.
Not from myself.
My scars weren’t something I had to survive anymore.
They were something I carried.
