The Truth That Held Them

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in soft strokes of amber and rose, the light spilling across the lake like liquid gold. The garden was quiet now — the bees had gone, the breeze had softened, and even the birds had stilled, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Sophia still sat with her back to Daniel, her shoulder resting lightly against his knee, the warmth of him seeping into her like the last rays of sunlight after a long winter. Tears had begun to fall — not from sorrow, not from pain — but from the unbearable weight of being seen, of being found, of being loved in silence and in storm.

And when she finally whispered her doubt into the hush, her voice was fragile, barely above a breath:

“I keep wondering… if we did the right thing. By telling them.”

Daniel didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t correct.

Just let the question hang in the air — not as regret, but as honesty.

Then, slowly, he shifted.

Not away.

But closer.

He drew his legs up s