“You do matter,” he whispered. “Why? I’m—” “Because you’re a fucking person,” he said, holding me flush to his body. “You’re beautiful, and I won’t lie, I searched your work. You’re fucking talented. You’re kind when you don’t need to be. You care about your friends and family. It took me no time at all to see those things, and even if not one of them was true, you’re still a person, Isolde. You matter.”
