The next morning after I came out of the bathroom and saw her standing in her t-shirt preparing our morning coffee, goosebumps from the cold air tickling the flawless pale skin of her thighs and bum, I felt a wave of love for her stronger than ever before. My Angel was so brave to carry that secret for so long and still face each day with her head held high, with alternating flames of defiance and twinkling of a young girl’s mischief in her eyes. My Angel was a warrior and more courageous than anyone I’d ever met, and there she stood, confident and filled with purpose as she went about her morning routine, unbowed by her confession to me the night before.
I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her and nuzzled the nape of her neck, the small curls there tickling my nose.
“I love you.” I said with more conviction than I had ever felt.
“Still?”
“Always.”
She set the reassembled coffee pot on the glowing hotplate and turned in my arms to loop hers around my neck.
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