The message came at 2:14 a.m.
Come back.
Two words.
No punctuation. No pleading. Just… open.
Daniel sat in his car at the edge of the river, headlights off, engine silent. He hadn't meant to end up there, but his body had driven him somewhere familiar. Somewhere still.
He read the message again.
Come back.
He closed his eyes. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white, heart louder than it should be.
She wanted him. She'd chosen him.
But that wasn't what kept him rooted in place.
It was the why.
Not because Julian had knocked. He'd known that would happen eventually. Ghosts didn't die on their own—they had to be exorcised. But Daniel wasn't afraid of Julian.
He was afraid of what Amelia still hadn't said.
He'd seen it in her eyes that night at the gallery. That flicker—somewhere between defiance and doubt. She was trying, but she was still protecting parts of herself. And Daniel knew what it meant to love someone who hadn't yet decided if they could survive being loved.
He'd been that someone once.
Now, he was on the other side. Waiting.
The keys shifted in his palm. A quiet decision.
---
Amelia was still in the robe when she heard the car.
She didn't move. Didn't fix her hair, didn't brace herself.
She simply opened the door.
Daniel stood in the rain.
Not dramatic. Not broken. Just… there.
Soaked through, hands empty, eyes full of something she couldn't name but had always recognized in herself.
"Julian came," she said quietly.
"I know."
"I didn't invite him."
"I didn't ask."
A pause.
He stepped inside without waiting to be asked, water trailing behind him like a shadow that no longer scared her.
"I don't want to be afraid of this anymore," she said.
Daniel didn't answer with words.
He stepped closer.
Unzipped the robe slowly.
And for the first time, didn't touch her right away.
He just looked—as if memorizing not her body, but the fact that she'd let him see her like this: stripped not just of clothing, but of defenses.
Amelia's breath trembled.
When he finally touched her, it wasn't lust that guided his hands.
It was reverence.
They didn't fall into each other—they surrendered.
There was nothing rushed, nothing performative. No need to be loud or wild. Just skin to skin, breath to breath, slow and unhurried—like they had all the time in the world to relearn how to belong.
And when he pressed into her, inside her, Amelia didn't just feel the heat of his body.
She felt the truth.
The ache of wanting. The weight of forgiveness. The quiet vow that said: I'm still here.
Long after their bodies stilled, Daniel stayed.
Wrapped around her.
Grounding her.
Amelia traced the scar on his shoulder with her fingertip. "You came back."
He kissed her temple.
"I never left."
---