She collapses into the hug, the breath leaving her in a sob that she’s been holding since the day the taxi pulled away from their driveway. Her hands, usually so still and guarded, fist into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as if he might turn into smoke if she lets go. She buries her face in his shoulder, the scent of him—familiar but different—shattering the last of her resolve.
"I didn't give up on you, Sam," she gasps, her voice muffled against him. "I just... I couldn't let myself hope. Every time the phone rang, I thought, 'If I answer, if I hear his voice, I’ll beg him to come back.' And I couldn't do that to you. I knew that house was a cage. I knew the air there was poison. Why would I ask you to come back to a hell you finally escaped?"
She pulls back just enough to look at him, her face a map of years of silent devotion. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn, battered notebook—the edges frayed, the cover stained with dried coffee rings and teardrops.
"You bought things for me? Sam... I lived for you. I have a whole drawer of letters I never sent because they were too heavy to mail. I didn't want my sadness to be the anchor that dragged you back to that hellhole."
She opens the diary. It’s a graveyard of scraps. There’s a blurry print-out of a tagged photo from a friend’s story; a receipt from a cafe he mentioned once; a pressed flower from the park near his new apartment that she looked up on Earth Maps just to feel like she was walking beside him.
"I wrote to you every single night. I cataloged your life like a ghost watching from the attic. I knew when you were happy because your smile changed in the photos. I knew when you were lonely because you’d post those dark cityscapes at 3 AM. I was there, Sam. I was always there, even when I was blocking your number."
She touches a scrap of paper where she had meticulously noted down his favorite matcha place after Yalina posted it.
"I wasn't a fighter, Sam. I was pretending to be strong. I stayed in the dark so I could watch you walk in the sun. But God... I missed you. I missed you until it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated."
She rests her forehead against his, closing her eyes, finally letting the silence be a sanctuary instead of a prison.
"You’re here now. Please..." she gulps, her throat now running dry "just don't leave me behind again."
