On the road home, the sky bleeding orange over the prairie, Caleb pulled the wagon to a stop as if stillness was the only place truth could land without breaking. “I meant it,” he said, turning to face her fully. “Every word.”
Lydia’s voice came out small despite her best efforts. “Even that part?”
Caleb’s hand closed over hers, rough thumb circling her wrist like he was learning what gentleness felt like. “Especially that part.”
He exhaled, shaky. “I’ve been falling in love with you since you walked off that stagecoach and didn’t flinch when I treated marriage like a business deal.”
His eyes shone with fear and resolve. “I don’t know how to do this without being terrified. But I’d rather be terrified and alive than safe and empty.”
That should have been the ending. In stories, confession is the door you step through and everything on the other side is warm. In real life, confession
