“I don’t want to be grateful,” he said, and then made himself finish. “I want you to stay. Not because you have to. Not because a judge could order it or a fence could promise it. Because I want to live a life with you in it. Because that near-kiss on the porch feels like a promise I mean to keep with the rest of me. Because when I hold that baby, I don’t see a burden that belonged to someone else. I see my daughter. And because every morning I find I’ve made a place in my head for your voice, whether you speak or not.”
