She swore she was done. Done with chances, done with heartbreak, done with believing love could be anything but a prelude to loss. Years of quiet survival had hardened into a kind of safety—until one unexpected voice began to slip past her defenses. It wasn’t flowers or grand gestures. It was attention. Patience. A slow, steady unraveling of all the reasons she’d given up, until saying “I’m in love” felt less like a performance and more like a confession she’d been afraid to make, even to hersel… Continues…
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