Dinner ended softly.
Not with noise or celebration, but with the kind of fullness that settled into the bones—the warmth of shared food, shared stories, shared silences that no longer hurt.
The Rossi family left the barracks later than planned, laughing quietly, Andrea turning back twice to wave, Lucia blowing kisses like she was afraid the moment might vanish if she didn't anchor it.
Isabella watched them go.
Only when the gate closed behind them did she finally exhale.
"You okay?" Xavier asked.
She nodded. "Yes. Just… a lot."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "A lot."
They walked in silence for a while, the night air cool, the compound calmer than usual. Somewhere in the distance, a generator hummed. Boots echoed faintly. Life went on.
They stopped near the infirmary entrance.
This place again.
Always this place.
Xavier leaned against the railing, rubbing his hand over his face. "I don't think I ever thanked you."
"For dinner?" she asked lightly.
"For not hating me."
Her chest tightened. "I never did."
"I should've come back," he said. "I should've fought harder."
"You didn't disappear by choice," she said firmly. "They took you from us piece by piece."
He looked at her then—really looked.
"You waited," he said softly.
She didn't answer.
Because she hadn't waited.
She had lived.
Survived.
Built something strong enough to stand on its own.
But—
She hadn't forgotten.
Xavier straightened, as if bracing himself.
"There's something I need to say," he said.
Isabella's pulse quickened.
"You don't have to," she replied gently.
"I do."
The silence stretched.
"I tried to forget you," he admitted. "God knows they helped. They buried me in work, exhaustion, pain. Some days I didn't even remember my own reflection."
He swallowed.
"But even when I didn't know your name… something was missing. Like a wound I couldn't see."
Her throat burned.
"When I saw you again," he continued, "it felt like my chest remembered before my mind did."
He stepped closer—but stopped, giving her space.
"You drive me crazy," he said with a soft, broken laugh. "You always did. Your strength, your stubbornness, the way you carry everyone and never ask to be carried."
His voice dropped.
"I love you, Isabella."
The words hung in the night air.
Unforced.
Unadorned.
True.
Isabella closed her eyes.
For a moment, she let herself feel it—the warmth, the familiarity, the longing she had locked away for years.
Then she opened them.
And shook her head.
Slowly.
"I can't," she said.
Xavier's breath hitched—but he didn't interrupt.
"I don't doubt you," she continued. "And I don't doubt what we were. Or what we could be."
She placed a hand over her chest.
"But I've spent years rebuilding myself from nothing. Learning how to stand without leaning on love to save me."
Her voice trembled just slightly.
"I'm not ready to give my heart to anyone—not even you."
He nodded, pain flickering across his face—but no anger.
"No pressure," he said quietly. "No demands."
She met his eyes. "If I love again, it has to be because I choose it freely. Not because I'm afraid of being alone."
He smiled sadly. "That's why I fell for you in the first place."
They stood there, close but not touching.
Past and present breathing in the same space.
"I'll wait," Xavier said—not as a promise, but a truth.
Isabella looked away, blinking back tears.
"Don't wait," she said softly. "Live."
He nodded. "I am. Right now."
She smiled faintly.
And for the first time, love wasn't a wound.
It wasn't a rescue.
It was simply there—
Patient.
Respectful.
Unfinished.