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"W E MET AT A DIPLOMATIC function."

Sylvain's fingers trace idle patterns on my bare shoulder as he speaks. I don't think he even notices what he's doing, but even this simple touch speaks of his possessiveness, and for better or for worse, this comforts me.

"She was kind. And innocent." Sylvain's voice is clinical and detached, as if he's reading a file rather than recounting his own heartbreak. "I was assigned to protect a visiting minister. She was the daughter of a French attaché."

Jealousy eats at me, and I don't think this will ever change. Maybe, there's a monster inside of me, too.

"I was...too young to know better. But also too old...to simply believe someone as sheltered as her, when she told me I could trust her."

His words make my heart ache. Because I already know what's about to come.

"Three men took her on her way home from university."

The only question is how an innocent girl like Annie was forced to betray the man she loves.

"They sent me a video." His voice doesn't change. But I feel his pain all the same. "She told them everything within the first hour. My safe houses. My contacts. The security protocols for the minister. Everything I had ever shared with her."

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"They came for me that night. I was—" He pauses, and for the first time, I hear a crack in his composure. "I was not prepared for the level of their... enthusiasm."

While I...I don't think I'll ever be prepared to hear any story of someone hurting my husband.

He describes his capture and torture with the same clinical detachment he might use to describe the weather. Seventeen hours of being beaten and broken, of knowing that all of it is happening...because you've been betrayed by the girl you love.

"It was completely by chance that I managed to free myself..."

Was it, really?

Because the more I think about it, the more I'm unable to stop thinking that it can't be.

For him to survive such odds, and the two of us to end up here...

This isn't chance.

But God.

The realization hits me with such force that tears spring to my eyes, and I suddenly remember the night Maman was first admitted to the hospital.

It was the last night I allowed myself to speak to God, and I remember kneeling beside her bed while she slept, feeling like I was about to explode from all the anger and bitterness boiling inside of me.

Why do bad things keep happening to us?

Why can't You punish those who deserve to be punished?

Do You really care about us? Do You even have a plan for us?

I had walked away from that hospital room convinced of God's indifference. And in that belief, I'd made choices.

Stealing. Lying. Everything I could think of to survive...and hurt God at the same time.

Because I thought...He had abandoned me.

And that everything about Him was a lie.

And that He never really cared about ordinary people like me.

I'm sorry, God.

But He does.

I know that now.

He had a plan all along. Always had. But I couldn't get past my fear and pain to see this.

And Sylvain...

My husband stiffens beneath me, finally noticing my tears. "What's wrong, Liana?"

I wish I could speak, but I'm crying too hard.

Thank You, God.

Because I see it all now. How all these years, I've been lashing out in my pain and self-pity. Stealing and conning people. Daring God to strike me down without the words. And yet...

Not once did He give up on me. He still made things work together for good. He still made use of my mistakes, reshaping my path until it led me to the man God's chosen to be my husband.

Sylvain.

"Talk to me, Liana." My husband sits up, pulling me with him. "What's wrong?"

I want to tell him how everything's right, but I'm just so overwhelmed that all I can do is cup my beloved's face and say...

"Love me."

His eyes widen.

"Please."

"Are you alright?"

I can only laugh at how seriously he asks this.

Oh, if only he knew!

Knowing that God chose him for me, and me for him...

It's liberating, and I'm feeling so, so fearless and dizzy with joy all at once that I just have to...

Sylvain jerks in surprise when I suddenly straddle him. "What do you think—"

"I love you," I declare, "and I really want you inside of me."

But my husband wouldn't have it, his hands gripping my hips to keep me from lowering myself on him.

"I love you, too—"

Is it just me...

"But now is not —"

...or does the room seems to have started shaking?

Sylvain stops speaking, and when we look into each other's eyes—

Oh no.

We spring into action at the same time while the room continues to shudder as if hit by seizures, Sylvain tossing me his shirt while he grabs his pants from the bottom of the bed.

I'm ready to make a run for it as soon as we emerge from the blanket, but I've only managed to jump off the bed when Sylvain suddenly grabs my wrist, asking, "Do you trust me?"

Seriously?

When an earthquake, a bomb, or God knows what is about to kill us—

He really has to ask that now?