“God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head. “I love that you roll your eyes when I make stupid jokes. I love that you argue with your dog when you think nobody’s watching. I love that you have coffee at night and that you don’t dress up for Halloween. And I love how great you are with my girls. I told myself I would never ask someone to stay with me again. But I love you. And that’s gotta mean something, right?” His eyes dart between mine, and he echoes on another breath, “That’s gotta mean something.”
