Joseph's POV
I woke up holding her hand.
For a moment, I didn't breathe.
Yvette sat slumped in the chair beside my bed, her head tilted slightly toward her shoulder, strands of hair falling loosely around her face. Her fingers were laced with mine, warm and steady, as if she had been anchoring me there through the night.
It wasn't a dream.
I tightened my grip instinctively—then stopped myself.
Slowly, carefully, I loosened my fingers and let her hand rest back against the arm of the chair.
Not because I wanted to let go.
But because I had promised myself I wouldn't trap her again.
Last night wasn't reconciliation.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It was truth, sharp, painful, and necessary.
I stayed still, watching her sleep, afraid that if I moved too much, the fragile balance between us would shatter.
