Night reclaimed the house gently.
The conversations had ended. Doors had closed. The tension of the day settled into a quieter, heavier stillness. Annabel lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts refusing to organize themselves. Confession had stripped her bare, but it hadn't answered the one question that mattered most.
Were they still them?
A soft knock came at her door.
Not loud. Not demanding. Just Richard.
She opened it without speaking.
They stood there for a moment, unsure, like they were learning each other again under new rules neither of them had written. Then Richard spoke, voice low.
"I didn't want today to end without us… being okay."
Annabel stepped aside. "Come in."
He did—but he didn't touch her right away. That mattered. The restraint wasn't fear anymore. It was care.
"I kept thinking," Annabel said quietly, "that once we said it out loud, everything good would disappear."
Richard shook his head. "It didn't."
She looked at him then—really looked. The tension in his shoulders. The softness in his eyes that only appeared with her. The truth settled deep in her chest.
"You're still here," she said.
"So are you."
That was enough.
She moved closer first this time. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just honest. When her hand slid into his, it felt grounding—like reclaiming something that had always belonged to them.
Richard exhaled slowly, thumb brushing the back of her hand like it was instinct, not decision.
"I was so afraid we'd lose this," he admitted.
Annabel tilted her head up, resting her forehead against his chest. "We won't. Not if we're careful with it."
He laughed quietly. "You always make it sound manageable."
She smiled. "It is. With you."
He kissed her then—soft, slow, deliberate. Not the kiss of secrecy or rebellion, but one of reassurance. A kiss that said we're still choosing each other, even now.
They stayed like that for a long time. No urgency. No guilt. Just closeness. Richard's arm around her waist, Annabel's head tucked under his chin, listening to his heartbeat steady her own.
Outside the room, the house remained complicated. Awake. Aware. Watching.
Inside, they allowed themselves this.
"This doesn't fix everything," Richard murmured.
"I know," Annabel said. "But it reminds me why we're trying."
He kissed her hair. "Whatever happens next… I'm not walking away from you."
She smiled against him, eyes closing. "Neither am I."
For tonight, that was enough.
The world could be heavy tomorrow. The family could still be adjusting. Consequences could still come.
But here, in this quiet space between truth and fear, Annabel and Richard held onto the one thing that had never betrayed them—
Their love.