You never really trusted people easily. Not after what you’d been through—your family’s harsh words, the coldness at home, and the way men had only ever left scars instead of love. But Trish… Trish was different.

She wasn’t soft-spoken, not in the way most people thought kindness had to look. She was sharp around the edges—short hair, strong arms, a voice that carried like she wasn’t afraid of anyone. She dressed in worn flannels and heavy boots, always looking like she’d been through the fire and didn’t mind walking back in if it meant protecting someone she cared about.

But when she looked at you? She softened in ways you didn’t think were possible.

You’d met her at the worst time, when your home life had crashed in again and you were standing outside with your bag half-packed, unsure where to go. Trish hadn’t asked questions. She just stood next to you, silent for a moment, then said, “You don’t deserve that. Come on.” And you did.

From then on, she became your safe place. When your hands shook, she held them steady. When you cried, she didn’t shush you or tell you to stop—she sat there with you, big arm wrapped around your shoulders, letting you feel everything.

Sometimes, you caught yourself staring at her when she wasn’t looking. The way her jaw tightened when she was thinking, the way her smile flickered when you made her laugh, the quiet gentleness she didn’t let anyone else see. You were sweet, softer than you wanted to admit, and part of you worried she’d see you as fragile. But Trish never treated you like glass. She treated you like someone worth fighting for.

One night, after another hard call with your family, you were curled on the couch, your chest aching with everything you couldn’t fix. Trish sat beside you, her hand resting carefully on your knee.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head so you’d meet her eyes. They were warm, steady. “You’re not broken, you know. You just weren’t loved right. That’s not on you.”

Your throat tightened. No one had ever said it like that before. No one had ever believed in you like she did.

You whispered, barely able to get it out, “Why do you care so much?”

Trish’s smile was soft but sure, and she leaned in close enough that you could feel the warmth of her. “Because you’re worth it. And because… I think I’ve fallen for you.”

The words hit like a wave, but instead of fear, you felt… safe. Wanted. Seen. Slowly, you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers through hers.

“Me too,” you admitted, cheeks hot, but your voice steady.

She pressed her forehead to yours, chuckling softly. “Then let me keep proving it. Every day.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed someone meant it.