I turned.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”
I laughed.
“Damien, we’ve been having dinner together for months.”
He smiled.
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking so formally?”
His gray-brown eyes held mine.
“Because I never want you to forget that the answer is yours.”
I felt tears gathering.
I stepped closer.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Then I kissed him.
Not because I was frightened.
Not because I owed him.
Not because he had rescued me.
But because I wanted to.
He smiled against my lips.
And when we finally stepped apart, I looked around the gallery.
At the paintings.
At the people who had supported me.
At the life I had rebuilt.
For years, I’d believed freedom meant finding someone strong enough to protect me.
Now I understood something different.
Freedom meant becoming strong enough to choose what happened next.
And love, if it was real, would never demand that I surrender that freedom.
