Page 77 of Undercover Hearts

The simple word struck with unexpected precision. Beneath the frustration, beneath the impatience, terror lurked—not of the physical limitations themselves, but of what they represented.

Dependency. Vulnerability. Identity fundamentally altered.

"I've never been this person," Michelle admitted, her voice dropping as the anger drained away, leaving rawer emotion inits wake. "The one who needs help. The one who can't manage alone."

She moved to the living room window, staring out at the familiar Phoenix Ridge skyline without really seeing it. Three stories below, people moved through their ordinary routines: walking dogs, carrying groceries, living lives uncomplicated by life-altering injuries.

"My mother used to say, 'Reyes women stand on their own,'" Michelle said after a moment, the memory surfacing unexpectedly. "My father's military career meant she was often managing three kids alone during deployments. She never complained, never asked for help, just handled everything with grace." She glanced back at Jenna, who had moved to the living room entrance. "I used to think it was strength."

"Wasn't it?" Jenna asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

Michelle considered this, searching for honesty beneath layers of ingrained belief. "Yes, but..." She sighed, pushing her good hand through her hair. "It was also isolation. A wall she built that no one could cross, not even her children. Especially not her husband, when he returned."

The admission felt significant—not just about her mother, but about patterns Michelle had unconsciously replicated throughout her own life. Walls built to protect that ultimately isolated. Independence cultivated to the point of disconnection.

"My marriage failed because I couldn't let Taylor in," she continued. "I was so focused on never being dependent, never being vulnerable, that I couldn't be a partner either."

Jenna remained quiet, listening with attentive patience.

"And now here I am”—Michelle gestured to her injured shoulder—"completely dependent on someone else for the most basic functions. Unable to maintain even theillusionof self-sufficiency."

"Is that what I am?" Jenna asked softly. "Just 'someone else'?"

The question contained no accusation, just quiet inquiry, but it struck Michelle. She turned fully from the window to face Jenna properly.

"No," she admitted. "You're not just someone else. That's part of what makes this so difficult."

Finally they were approaching the conversation they'd been circling since the operation concluded. Since before that, really—from the moment their cover relationship began shifting into something neither had fully acknowledged.

"Why does it make it more difficult?" Jenna asked, maintaining her position by the living room entrance, giving Michelle both physical and emotional space.

Michelle took a deep breath. The walls she'd spent a lifetime constructing stood before her, familiar and secure. Breaking through them would require a courage different from what she'd employed on the cliffside path. That had been instinct, training, and adrenaline. This required deliberate vulnerability.

"Because I don't know how to do this," she said finally. "I don't know how to need someone without losing myself. I don't know how to let someone care for me without either resenting the dependency or pushing them away before they can leave."

The admission hung in the air between them, perhaps the most honest statement Michelle had made since their first meeting.

"Is that what you're afraid of?" Jenna asked, taking a tentative step forward. "That I'll leave?"

"Everyone does, eventually. Or I push them away. Same result."

"But you stepped in front of a bullet for me," Jenna observed, her voice gentle. "That suggests you're capable of prioritizing someone else over your own safety."

She hadn't thought twice about protecting Jenna and had made the choice without conscious deliberation. The same instinct that had driven her to build walls had also driven her to place herself between Jenna and danger.

"That was different," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure how.

"Was it?" Jenna took another step closer. "You've been willing to sacrifice for me. Why is it harder to accept that I might be willing to stay for you?"

The question penetrated defenses Michelle had maintained for decades. She sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted by the weight of walls she'd carried for so long.

"I don't know how to do this," she repeated, but the words carried different meaning now—not defensive frustration but genuine uncertainty.

Jenna moved to sit beside her. "No one really does, Michelle. We learn as we go."

Silence settled between them, but unlike the awkward pauses of previous days, this one felt full with possibility rather than constraint.

"The operation is over," Michelle said finally. "Our cover identities are abandoned. You have no obligation to stay."