Page 108 of Scars and Crowns

"No." She looks straight at me. "I walked into that lake because Sara was in it." There's no hesitation. No apology. No uncertainty. "She's not your daughter." The words leave her before either of us can stop them. "She's mine." Her breathing catches slightly. "I will do anything to keep her safe. Anything."

"I won't stop to think about it."

"Not ever."

The room goes completely still. Something inside me gives way. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just . . . quietly. Because she's right.

She isn't trying to hurt me. She's telling me the truth.

For seven years it has only been the two of them. Every fever. Every nightmare. Every scraped knee. Every hospital visit. Every bad day.

She never had anyone else to look toward. Of course she jumped. Of course she didn't stop to calculate who else was standing nearby. A mother doesn't count lifeguards before diving after her child.

But hearing the words out loud—She's mine—not yours—still leaves a dull ache somewhere beneath my ribs that I wasn't prepared for.

I don't say anything. I can't. Across from me, I see the exact moment she realizes how it sounded. Guilt flashes across her face almost immediately. Her shoulders fall. "Yuvaan . . . " Her voice is much softer now. I let out a slow breath.

"It's alright." I sink onto the edge of the bed because suddenly I don't trust my legs to keep holding me. "I'm sorry." I rub a hand over my forehead. "I shouldn't have come in here like that." I take a deep breath, "I was frightened." The last sentence comes out almost as a whisper. "So frightened." She reaches for me without another word.

Her arms slide around my neck, pulling me toward her, and every part of me goes willingly. I hold her just as tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispers against my shoulder. "I didn't mean . . . " She stops, trying again. "For so many years . . . " Her voice trembles. " . . . it's only been us."

"Just me and Sara. I've spent so long believing I had to be the only one protecting her that..." She exhales shakily. "...my body reacted before my mind could."

"I forgot." Her fingers tighten against the back of my shirt. "I forgot she has other people now."

She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are shining. "I forgot there are people who love her besides me." A tear slips free. "I forgot . . . that someone else would've gone after her too." I lift one hand and brush the tear away with my thumb.

"And you." I keep my voice gentle. "They love you too." I wait until she really looks at me. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore. You don't have to be the only person standing between her and the world." I smile softly, "You don't have to be. Not while I'm here."

Her face crumples so quietly it breaks my heart. She leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against my cheek. "So many people have thanked me in my life," I think absently.

For speeches.

For donations.

For decisions.

None of it has ever meant as much as this one whispered thank you. "Thank you," she murmurs. I close my eyes for just a second. The fear hasn't disappeared. I don't think it will for a while.

I can still see the image my mind created the moment someone said the words lake . . . unconscious . . . Anamika. I understand myself a little too well. Fear has always come out wrong. It arrives as panic. Then, once the people I love are finally safe . . . it sharpens into anger because anger is somehow easier to survive than terror.

She caught that sharp edge today. She didn't deserve it. I brush a damp strand of hair away from her forehead. "You know . . . " A helpless smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite everything. "I've been trying very hard to decide whether I should kiss you . . . " I shake my head, " . . . or lecture you for the next ten years."

She gives me an exhausted look. “I nearly lost my mind today."

I frown, "You walked into a lake you couldn't swim in . . . " I sigh, " . . . because someone you loved needed you."

I let out a quiet laugh that sounds suspiciously close to breaking. "I don't think I've ever been more terrified . . . "

"...or more in love with you..."

"...than I was at that moment."

She stares at me. Then, despite everything . . . she blushes. Colour creeps slowly into cheeks that had been frighteningly pale only minutes ago. She reaches over and gives my chest a weak shove. "That," she mutters, "is an absolutely ridiculous thing to tell your wife after shouting at her."

"My wife nearly drowned." I shrug lightly. "I think I'm entitled to be at least a little ridiculous."

A laugh escapes her. Small. Shaky. Wet around the edges. But it's there. The sound settles something restless inside me.