I helped him adjust the straps, more carefully this time. Up close, I could see everything: the bruises, the pressure marks, and how his skin had hardened in some places and broken in others.
I hesitated. "Does it still hurt this much?"
He didn't look at me. "Some days more than others."
« Rowan... »
He exhaled. "There are days when I hate them, Mik. I want to rip them off and forget all about it." He glanced at me then. "But then I remember why I do it."
I softened. "You don't have to prove anything to me."
"I know. But I want to."
"Does it still hurt this much?"
***
We trained in small steps.
"Okay," I said, stepping in front of him. "Hold my hand. Lean on me if you need to."
"I'll absolutely need it, Mik."
He sat up, gripping my shoulders. His whole body was trembling, his breathing was labored.
"Gently, darling," I whispered. "I've got you."
"Lean on it if you need to."
***
A week later, at our reception, Rowan rolled to the center of the room and looked at me.
"Ready, baby?" he asked.
" Always. "
He took a breath, braced himself, and stood up.
The room remained still.
I surprised two of my cousins near the bar, the same ones who had asked me if I was "sure of myself" before the wedding.
One of them murmured something, his eyes fixed on Rowan.
The room froze.
"Is he really going to try?"
My chest tightened. Let them watch.
He leaned close, his voice low. "You're in charge, Mik."
I smiled through my tears. "I've got you."
And this time, we moved together.
***
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