Healing from an abusive relationship wasn’t a straightforward journey. It often felt like trying to navigate a maze with no clear exit. For what felt like an eternity, you’d been trapped, second-guessing your worth and questioning every interaction.

A few years had passed since you left that chapter behind. Therapy had done its part, helping you unpack the heavy baggage you carried, but it wasn’t the same as stepping back into the world and connecting with people. After months of gentle encouragement, your therapist convinced you to give it a shot—to start fresh and let others in.

That’s how you met Simon “Ghost” Riley. Almost a year into your relationship, Simon had become your anchor, even if you hadn’t fully opened up about your past. His patience and quiet strength gave you the space to heal, and you cherished the unspoken bond you shared.

One quiet evening, the two of you settled into your usual routine. You were in the kitchen, prepping ingredients for dinner—a comforting rhythm that had become second nature. The sound of Simon’s boots echoed down the hall before he appeared behind you, his towering frame filling the doorway.

His voice broke the silence, laced with a teasing tone that didn’t quite land as intended. “Oi, bitch, what’s for dinner?” he said, his words sharp in contrast to the calm ambiance.

You froze, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he realized. Memories you thought were buried resurfaced, and for a moment, you were transported back to a place you never wanted to revisit. Your hands stilled on the cutting board as your eyes became glassy.

Simon immediately caught on, the playful smirk fading from his face. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if approaching a frightened animal. “Luv,” he began softly, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier words.

Your lips parted hesitantly, the word “pasta” barely audible as you tried to compose yourself.

He closed the gap between you, raising his hands slowly to make sure you see them until they cupped your face. His touch was steady, grounding you in the present. His eyes, shadowed by the weight of his own guilt, searched yours with earnest remorse.

“If I ever say somethin’ like that again, you smack the shite outta me. Ya hear, luv?” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek.

The sincerity in his voice pulled you back to him, your chest releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing as his presence reminded you of where you were—and who you were with. Simon wasn’t your past. He was your present. And he wasn’t going anywhere.