I was in the kitchen when I heard the door click shut—earlier than I expected. I smiled to myself, ready to say something teasing, something warm. But the moment I saw her, every thought vanished.

She stood in the hallway, her keys still in her hand, frozen. Her eyes found mine, wide and filled with panic.

“Lando…” she breathed, barely holding it together.

I dropped the dish towel on the counter and walked toward her. “Hey. What’s going on?”

She swallowed hard, her throat working as she forced the words out. “I… I scratched your car. Not a lot, I just… I wasn’t watching the angle when I parked next to it, and the side of my bumper caught yours. It’s just a scrape, but—”

Her voice broke. Her whole body started to tremble.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear. I’ll pay for it, I’ll fix it, I can call someone first thing in the morning. Just… please don’t be mad. Please.”

My chest tightened.

Not because of the car.

Because I’d seen this reaction before. And I knew exactly where it came from.

Her ex—the one she finally escaped months before we got together—had weaponized every mistake she ever made. It didn’t matter how small. A broken plate. A forgotten text. A single second of silence. He twisted them into reasons to raise his voice, to punish her, to chip away at her confidence until she barely trusted her own thoughts.

He trained her to believe fear was normal.

And now here she was, standing in my hallway, panicking over a scratch like it was a sin.

I closed the distance between us and placed my hands gently on her arms. She flinched at first—just barely—but it was there. That automatic flinch he put in her.

I pulled her into my arms.

No pressure. No sudden movements. Just warmth. Safety. Stillness.

She held her breath against my chest.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, softly but firmly. “You’re not in trouble.”

She didn’t answer. She just clung to me, like she was waiting for the moment I changed. The moment I turned into him.

But that moment would never come.

“It’s just a car,” I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And it’s just a scratch. Nothing more.”

Her breath hitched again, then slowly eased.

I gently pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her eyes were glassy, her lip trembling.

“I love that car,” I said with a small smile, “but I love you a whole lot more. And if a scratch is the price for having you in my life, I’d let you drive through the whole bloody garage.”

That got the tiniest laugh. Barely there—but real.

I wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb.

“Besides,” I added, “this gives me a perfect excuse to finally paint that bumper neon green. Or maybe something completely ridiculous. Leopard print? Zebra stripes? You choose.”