Slowly, over a year, the wariness in her softened into something else.

Not the old romance; we were not the people who had that, and those people were gone.

Something sturdier, built by two adults who had both been badly hurt and had chosen, with open eyes, to try anyway.

I do not know a word for it that isn’t cheapened by overuse.

But it is the truest thing I have, and I built it the way you build anything that lasts: slowly, honestly, and without ever again letting anyone else hold the blueprints.

Chapter 33 — Nobody’s Going to Knock It Down