A year ago, I drove through a Montana blizzard with broken ribs and a desperate plan, sure I would die alone in the snow. Instead, I found a warrior with scars that matched my own. A protector whose strength became my shelter. A partner whoshows me, every day, what love looks like when it’s built on respect instead of fear.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words no longer frightening but freeing.
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed. “I love you more.” The simple truth reflected in his eyes. “Always.”
As sleep claims us both, one final thought drifts through my mind—that sometimes, salvation arrives not as we imagine it, not in rescue from above or liberation from without, but in the simple, profound act of two broken souls recognizing each other across the darkness.
I found safety from the storm and a reason to weather it. I discovered even the deepest wounds can heal, given time, tenderness, and trust.
I discovered love, real love, doesn’t diminish but magnifies. It turns victims into survivors. Survivors into warriors. And warriors into something greater still.
We saved each other. And that… That was enough for us to start again.
TWENTY-SIX
Willow
One yearto the day
Autumn paintsthe mountains in russet and gold as we drive the winding road to the cabin. One year to the day since I crashed in a Montana blizzard, fleeing a monster to find unexpected salvation.
Mason’s hand rests on my thigh as he navigates the familiar route, occasionally squeezing gently in wordless communication. Bear and Chaos doze in the back of the SUV, older now but still alert, still protective of the humans they’ve adopted.
The cabin appears around a final curve, transformed from the tactical fortress of my memories into something warmer, more welcoming. The porch has been expanded, window boxes added, and a sense of permanence infused into what was once merely a survival outpost.
“Ready?” Mason asks as we pull to a stop, his eyes searching mine for any hesitation.
I look at the place where our story began—not with romancebut with survival, not with courtship but with necessity. The memories could be overwhelming, but instead, I find they’ve lost their sharp edges, softened by a year of healing, building, and reclaiming.
“Ready,” I confirm, squeezing his hand before stepping out into the crisp mountain air.
The dogs bound ahead, reacquainting themselves with familiar territory as Mason retrieves our bags. Inside, the cabin has been transformed—still secure, still tactical in its bones, but warmer now. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with legal texts alongside military strategy. The kitchen gleams with new appliances, ready for the meals we’ll prepare together over the coming week.
“What do you think?” Mason asks, setting down our bags and wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Too many memories?”
I lean against his solid warmth, surveying where everything changed. “Good memories now. Or at least, memories that led to something good.”
His lips brush my temple. “I have something for you.”
From his pocket, he produces a small velvet box—not the traditional shape for a ring, I note with curiosity. Inside, nestled on black velvet, lies a key.
“The deed transferred yesterday,” he says, voice rumbling against my back. “The cabin is yours now. Or ours, if you want it to be.”
I lift the key, turning to face him with questions in my eyes.
“This place saved me after Rachel,” he explains, his hands settling at my waist. “Kept me sane when I thought I’d never rejoin the world. Then it brought you to me, gave us both shelter when we needed it most.” His eyes hold mine, serious and intent. “Seemed right that it should be yours now. A safe place, whenever you need it. No matter whathappens.”
The gesture renders me speechless—not just the gift itself, but the profound understanding behind it. A safe place. A refuge. A choice that’s truly mine.
“Ours,” I say finally, pressing the key back into his hand and closing his fingers around it. “It should be ours.”
Relief and something deeper flashes in his eyes. “You’re sure? I wanted you to have something that was completely yours, without obligation?—”
I silence him with a kiss, pouring everything I feel into the connection. When we part, I keep his face between my hands, ensuring he understands the importance of what I’m about to say.
“I spent three years trapped in a marriage where nothing was truly mine,” I tell him, voice steady despite the emotion behind the words. “Where every gift came with invisible strings, every kindness with expected repayment. What you’re offering—a safe place with no obligations—means everything.” I press another kiss to his lips, gentle and affirming. “But I’m choosing us. Not out of fear or necessity or gratitude, but because it’s what I want.”
The tension in his shoulders eases beneath my touch. The warrior who faces every threat without flinching still struggles sometimes to believe in his worthiness, just as I struggle with trusting my judgment after Steffan.
