That night, Daniel and I sat together on the porch.
"What are we going to do?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"If Ethan tells people—"
"Let him. I don't care."
"Daniel—"
"I don't care," he repeated. "I've spent the last 15 years trying to be someone I wasn't. A husband. A father. The man everyone expected me to be."
He took my hand.
"And I did all of it. For you. For your mother. For everyone but myself. And I was miserable."
He squeezed my hand.
"Then you came back. You were hurting, and I realized I couldn't fix your life for you. I could only be there. I could love you."
"Daniel—"
"I love you," he said. "Not because you're beautiful. Not because you're young. Because you're you. You've always been you. And somehow, you've always been the one person who made all of this feel worth
