LOVE FOR SALE
"And because I’m tired of people treating you like you’re less than."
That stunned me into silence. For a moment, I saw not the cautious, distant man who kept walls around his heart, but someone who still carried a piece of his father’s love.
"I’ll think about it," I said quietly.
He nodded. "That’s all I’m asking."
After dinner, I sat by the window, staring out at the night. Somewhere inside me, Ambrose’s voice still lingered. His love hadn’t died in the explosion—not really. It lived in my belly, in the child growing there. It lived in the soup I made, in the memory of lemon and salt and laughter.