“‘Cause it’s ridiculous, you dipshit.” I twist in his lap so we’re face to face. “Me loving you is not dependent on you ‘getting better.’ It never was. I didn’t want you to go to therapy for me. I wanted it for you.” I lift my hand, running my fingers over his stubbly cheek. “Because I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness. You deserve love. And,” I press my lips to his neck, feeling his pulse thrum under his skin, “you deserve a really hot, talented, smart wife. So gimme the ring, please.”
