The end of the rope

Nathaniel studied her for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. He shifted his weight slightly, his posture remaining formal, but his tone softened just enough to pierce through Rosalie's apprehension.

I’ll come with you, he said, his voice low but resolute. You have my word. I won’t let you face this alone.

He glanced at the patients behind her, then back to Rosalie, his jaw tightening. But don’t think for a second that what you do is anything less than extraordinary. You call it hard work, and maybe it is—but not everyone has the will to give so much of themselves. Most people would’ve run by now. You stayed.

Nathaniel stepped closer, his voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate register. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that anyone could do what you’ve done here, I’ll let it go. But we both know you can’t.

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though his tone remained serious. You don’t have to agree with me, of course. But at least admit this—you’d never let me get away with saying something that self-effacing.

There was a pause, a slight hesitance as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded toward her dwindling supplies. Let’s get these sorted. Then we’ll figure out the rest. Together.

@chuckles