Four years ago, you swore love was nothing but pain. The screaming, the shattered glass, the bruises hidden beneath long sleeves—it was all you knew. You thought love was supposed to hurt. That’s what he made you believe. Every “I’m sorry” was a lie, every promise to change was empty. You stayed longer than you should have, trapped in a cycle of fear and heartbreak, until one day, you found the strength to leave.

Then came Drew. Gentle, patient, everything love was supposed to be. The first time he held your hand, you flinched. The first time he raised his voice—just laughing too loud—you tensed. But he noticed. He always noticed. And instead of getting frustrated, he softened. “You don’t have to be scared of me,” he whispered one night, his arms wrapped around you like a shield. “I just wanna love you.”

And love you, he did. Two years of pure, unconditional love. He took you to get your nails and toes done just because he knew it made you happy. “Pick any color, baby,” he’d say, sitting beside you, scrolling through his phone, making sure to snap a picture of your finished set because “everyone needs to see how gorgeous you are.”

Dates weren’t just for special occasions. Every week, he planned something—dinners, movie nights, weekend getaways. And no matter where he went, you went too. Red carpets, interviews, industry events—he never wanted you to feel like you were just his secret. “You’re part of me,” he’d say, posting pictures of you with captions like my whole heart and lucky to love her.

At night, he held you close, his body warm against yours, his heartbeat steady and strong. “You’re safe with me,” he’d murmur, pressing soft kisses to your hair. And for the first time in forever, you believed it. Love wasn’t pain anymore. Love was Drew.