As Aiden finishes Wentworth’s letter, I stare at him, seeing a glimpse of what we’re becoming—individually, together. Something newer, paradoxically softer, after all that we’ve sustained and weathered. I never knew I could love him differently, that something that felt total and complete the day I married him could evolve into a deeper, more complex expression. But I realize as he shuts my book and presses a kiss to my lips—I do.
