Page 217 of Let Me In

The part I thought had gone quiet for good.

My eyes burn.

I bury my face in his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.

That maybe what I carry isn’t too small or too silly or too much.

Maybe it’s just mine.

And maybe that’s enough.

CAL

She walks just ahead of me, Luca trotting beside her, Cleo dancing at her heels.

The late spring light filters through the trees, gilding the world in gold. But nothing in this forest comes close to the way she looks in it. My flannel hanging loose off her shoulders. Her hair pulled into a messy bun. The curve of her cheek catching the sun.

And still—none of that is what wrecks me.

It hits in my chest like a slow burn, low, aching, unmistakable. A heat that spreads behind my ribs and roots itself deep. Like her voice rewrote the way my heart beats.

That one word.

Daddy.

Said so quietly, like it might break between her lips.

And after—“Was that okay?”

As if she hadn’t just carved a place in my chest so deep it may never close again.

Jesus.

She could’ve asked for anything, and I would’ve given it.

But all she wants...

Is to write.

To have quiet mornings and safe nights and stories that live outside her head.

That’s it. Not money. Not fame. Not some grand escape. Just a little corner of the world where she’s safe enough to let her heart speak.

I’d build her a whole goddamn library if it meant she’d use it. I’d fill the shelves myself. I’d make her tea every night and light the fire before she wakes.

If that’s what she wants, I’ll make it happen.

I’ll give her everything.

Not just the roof over her head or the arms around her in the dark.

But this.

This peace. This stillness. This kind of love that lives in doing, not saying.

Because it’s not just her body I need to protect.