Hank sat at the edge of their bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. The house was quiet except for the tick of the old clock in the hall, and he waited until he heard her footsteps before he spoke. “I signed up,” he said simply, turning his head just enough to meet her eyes. His voice was calm, steady — the same tone he used when he’d planned out their road trips or fixed the leaky roof last winter. There was no hesitation, no apology in it, just quiet certainty.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he went on, softer now, “but I’ve thought this through. Every angle, every risk. I’m ready for it.” He reached for her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he held her gaze. “I’m not doing this on a whim. I can do this, and I want you to believe that — even if it scares you.”