I leaned against the doorway.
“I was strong before. You just benefited from me not knowing it yet.”
He turned.
For a moment, silence stretched between the people we had been and the people we had become.
“I’m seeing someone,” I said.
Daniel blinked.
It was the first time in years that I had managed to surprise him without documents, helicopters, or children.
“Oh.”
I almost smiled. “That’s all?”
He swallowed. “I’m trying very hard not to say the wrong thing.”
“Wise.”
“Is he good to you?”
“Yes.”
“Do the children like him?”
“They adore him. Mostly because he can cook and doesn’t panic during science fair week.”
Daniel nodded, but grief crossed his face.
“I’m glad,” he said.
The words were quiet.
Painful.
Sincere.
His reaction mattered less than I expected.
The man I was seeing was Aaron Bell, a pediatric trauma surgeon I met during a task force fundraiser. He had kind hands, calm eyes, and the rare ability to enter chaos without needing to control it.
