---- Chapter 17 Haylie Camacho POV: The world had come back into focus slowly. First sounds, then colors, then the gentle pressure of a hand holding mine. | had felt Elliot' s fingers twitch against my palm hours before he opened his eyes. It was a faint, almost imperceptible flutter, but | knew what it was. It was a bridge. A connection back to the world. When he finally opened his eyes, they were clear and focused. He looked at me, a long, searching look, and | saw a flicker of recognition. Not of me, Haylie, his stranger-wife, but of a presence. The woman who had been reading to him, talking to him, holding his hand through the long, silent darkness. "Haylie," he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. My name. He knew my name. A sob of pure, unadulterated joy escaped me. | squeezed his hand, my own tears blurring my vision. "You' re awake," | cried. "Oh, thank god, you' re awake." Asmall, weak smile touched his lips. "You have a nice voice," he said. "I' d know it anywhere." He had heard me. All those hours | had spent pouring out my ---- heart to him, he had been listening. | was laughing and crying at the same time, a dizzying, overwhelming wave of relief washing over me. He was back. He was going to be okay. And then the door burst open. Jeremy stood there, his hair wild, his clothes rumpled, his face a mask of desperation. He looked like a man who had stared into the abyss and seen his own reflection. His eyes darted from me to the man in the bed, and | saw his face crumble. He had come here for a confrontation, for a dramatic, desperate plea. He had not come here expecting to find my new husband awake. "Haylie," he breathed, taking a step into the room. Elliot' s hand tightened on mine. His gaze, though weak, was steady and protective. "Who is he?" Elliot asked, his voice quiet but firm. Before | could answer, Jeremy took another step forward, his eyes wild with a pain so profound it was almost terrifying. "Haylie, | know," he said, his voice cracking. "l know everything. Joselin, my father... what they did to you. What | did to you." He looked like he was being torn apart from the inside out. The arrogance, the weakness, the blindness-it was all gone, ---- stripped away, leaving behind the raw, bleeding wound of his guilt. "It doesn' t matter anymore, Jeremy," | said, and | was surprised to find that | meant it. His confession, his pain-it couldn't touch me. It was like watching a storm rage on a distant shore. | was safe now. "It matters to me!" he cried, his voice breaking. "| was a fool. Amonster. | let them hurt you. | hurt you. Please, Haylie. Just give me a chance to make it right." "There is nothing to make right," | said, my voice gentle. | looked down at Elliot, whose thumb was now gently stroking the back of my hand. "I'm where ' m supposed to be." Jeremy stared at our joined hands, and a look of utter, soul- destroying devastation washed over his face. He finally understood. It wasn't just a legal arrangement. It wasn't just a marriage of convenience. He had not just lost his wife. He had lost his soulmate. And she had already found another. He stumbled backward, a wounded, animal sound escaping his lips. He turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the long hall, the sound of a man running from his own ghosts. | looked back at Elliot. He was watching me, his blue eyes full of a quiet understanding that went beyond words. "Is he gone?" he asked. ---- "Yes," | said, my voice thick with emotion. "He' s gone." "Good," Elliot said, a small smile playing on his lips. He squeezed my hand. "Now, where were we?" The weeks that followed were a blur of quiet joy. Elliot' s recovery was slow but steady. | was there for every milestone: his first steps in physical therapy, his first real meal, the first time he laughed out loud at one of my terrible jokes. We talked for hours, filling in the missing pieces of each other' s lives. He told me about his passion for surgery, his love for sailing, his difficult relationship with his overbearing mother. | told him about my dreams of being a nurse, my love for old books, the gaping hole my mother' s death had left in my life. | didn' t tell him the details of Jeremy' s betrayal. He didn' t need to know. That was part of a different life, a life that felt more and more like a distant, half-forgotten dream. + One evening, as we were sitting on the veranda watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink, he turned to me. "Haylie," he said, his voice serious. "You know you don' t have to stay." | looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" "| know why you married me," he said gently. "My mother told me. It was an arrangement. A way out. You don' t owe me anything. If you want to leave, to start a new life somewhere ---- else... | won't stop you." | looked at this kind, decent man who was offering me my freedom, a freedom | had craved for so long. And | realized, with a sudden, startling clarity, that | didn't want it. "| don' t want to leave," | said, my voice barely a whisper. | met his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. "This... this feels more like home than any place |' ve ever been." A tear escaped my eye and trickled down my cheek. "The truth is, Elliot... | have nowhere else to go." He reached out and gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. His touch was warm, electric. "You' re wrong," he said, his voice soft. He took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. "You have me."