Chapter 9 I woke up to the scent of something warm and comforting-freshly brewed coffee, eggs, toasted bread, and a bit of jam. My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through pale curtains. And then I saw him. Scott. He was holding a tray in his hands, with a sheepish grin painted across his face like a boy trying to impress his first crush. "You didn't have to do this," I murmured, sitting up with effort. My body still ached, my arms and legs weak from days of staying in bed. I glanced at the tray. "You don't have to take care of me ike this." Scott raised a brow and placed the tray on my lap. "I didn't have to," he said, voice low and steady, "but I want to." looked down at the eggs, carefully cooked just the way. I liked them. The toast wasn't burnt. The am was homemade-he knew I liked the tart kind, not the sweet one. Every detail was too precise for a man who didn't care. 'I still feel like I'm burdening you." Scott sat at the edge of the bed, folding his arms. "Taylor, I brought you here. I took you in. nade the choice to take responsibility. So if anyone forced anything-it's me." shook my head. "You didn't force me. You… saved me." My voice broke slightly at the end. "You ook me in when I had no one left. I was barely breathing when you found me. You helped me ecover when no one else would." He smiled, eyes gentle. "I don't help people out of pity. You know that." 'Then why?" I asked softly. 'Because you're going to be my wife," he said with certainty, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. stared at him, stunned. "You're really sure about this?" 'I've been sure since the moment I met you," Scott whispered. "Even when you turned me dowr before. Even when you married Troy. Even when you didn't choose me… I still loved you. Always." My heart ached at his honesty. Scott was never flashy. Never dramatic. He was consistent, quiet and unwavering. Something I hadn't valued-until now. He continued, "When I heard what Troy did, when I saw you-half-conscious, bleeding, discarded ike trash-I swore I'd never let anyone hurt you again. I promised myself I would take care of you. And I meant it, Taylor." Tears welled in my eyes. I turned away slightly. "But what if I ruin it? What if I can't love you the way you deserve?" He reached for my hand gently. "Then I'll wait. For as long as it takes. I'll be here, even if you never say the words. I won't ask for anything, not even your love. Your peace is enough for me." I cried silently, overwhelmed by the quiet promise. "Why are you being so kind?" He smiled again. "Because for once, someone needs to be." His palm was warm over mine. Comforting. Strong. "For now," he added, voice shifting into his playful tone, "I'm your doctor. And I say you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood. And emotionally, you're still not out of the woods. So listen to me." I let out a small laugh. "Yes, doctor. Thank you." From that day forward, Scott became my constant. He brought me meals. He sat by my bed when I had nightmares and whispered gentle words until I could fall back asleep. He gave me space when I needed silence, and arms when I needed warmth. He never pressed. Never demanded. One night, after I woke up from another dream-sweating, breath shallow-he sat by my side and asked softly, "Do you want to talk about it?" I shook my head, gripping the blanket. "No. Just… stay." He didn't hesitate. "Always." And slowly, the pain began to fade. The bruises healed. My appetite returned. I started sleeping better. Laughing again. I began to move around the small house-his house-and felt a strange sense of safety that I'd never had not even in the home I once called mine. "Did you plant those?" I asked one morning, pointing to the blooming daisies outside his window. He nodded while handing me a cup of tea. "You once told me daisies make you feel calm." I blinked. I didn't remember that-but he did. "Why are you doing all this for me?" I asked quietly. Scott met my gaze without flinching. "Because you matter. Even when others failed to see it… always did." I swallowed hard. "And if I never heal completely?" "Then I'll love you through the scars," he said, gently brushing his thumb against the back of my hand. That evening, after a full day of rest and reading, I stepped into the living room and saw it. The lights were dimmed. Candles flickered gently on a table set for two. A soft melody played from the speakers. Scott stood there, dressed neatly in a button-down shirt, holding out his hand. "What's all this?" I asked, lips curving. "You're healing," he said simply. "You're here. You're alive. That's something worth celebrating." I took his hand and let him guide me to the table. We ate slowly, talked gently-about small things, mundane things. The world felt light again. After dinner, Scott stood up and walked around to my side. I looked up at him, confused for a moment, until he knelt down-right beside me, eyes soft under the flickering candlelight. "Taylor," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "you've been through hell. I know I can't erase any of it. I know I can't take away the pain others caused you." My breath caught. "But what I can do… is love you. Without conditions. Without asking you to become someone else. Without forcing you to forget the past." "Scott…" He took a breath. "Taylor… will you marry me?" Chantera