“For becoming who I was before I became yours.”

“I thought you’d be angry,” she whispered. “I thought you’d say it was too late.”

There’s a quiet arrogance in the way we often begin a marriage. We tell ourselves we know everything—her coffee order, the way she hums when she’s nervous, the small scar above her left eyebrow. We mistake familiarity for understanding.

Her secrets did not push me away. They became the very map I needed to finally find her.