He swallowed hard, then looked at Lydia, really looked, and the intensity in his eyes made her breath hitch.
“So I built walls. I wrote that advertisement because I was a coward. I wanted marriage without risk, partnership without vulnerability, labor without love.”
A murmur flickered and died. Caleb’s voice hardened. “And Lydia came anyway. She showed up with one trunk and no illusions, and she gave me everything I didn’t deserve.”
He gestured toward the room like he was holding up a mirror. “You all stand here pretending your cruelty is charity, judging a woman because she doesn’t fit your narrow, pretty definition of acceptable, and you think you have the right to laugh at her like she’s entertainment.”
Then his hand rose, cupping Lydia’s face with a tenderness that made her eyes burn. “Let me tell you what I see,” he said, voice rough with something like awe.
“I see a woman with more strength in her little finger than most men have in their whole bodies. I see someone who made my house a home, who turned hard ground into food, who works from dawn until dark and still manages to look at me like I’m human.”
His throat bobbed. “And I see the woman I love.”
The words detonated the room into whispers, but Lydia heard nothing but her own heartbeat.
Caleb didn’t wait for permission. “Love doesn’t make a man weak,” he said louder, eyes blazing. “Fear does. And I’ve been afraid long enough that I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He laced his fingers through Lydia’s and walked her out while Victoria’s protest rose behind them like a shriek from a collapsing throne.
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