The windowsill is firm and unrelenting against my grip, the glass pane smooth and cold when I press my forehead against it. The sobs descend upon me in a fierce, sudden onslaught; though I don’t loosen my hold on the windowsill, I sink to my knees. His hands find my shoulders and coax me to my feet. I should turn away, but instead I surrender to his embrace.

We stand at opposite ends of a chasm, one that will never go away. It can’t, not when the past few years of our lives have been so vastly different. But, despite my inability to help him understand, I think the gap has narrowed.

“All I wanted was for you to find peace,” he murmurs when I lift my head and wipe the moisture from my cheeks.

“I’m closer to it. And if I could do all of this again, there’s one thing I would’ve done much differently, Maciek.” I swallow the sudden quaver in my voice and raise my eyes to his. “I never would have done what I did to you.”

Mateusz’s finger traces my cheek beneath my eye, the same one that was discolored and bruised after our first meeting, then along my temple, where a pistol barrel once pressed so firmly that it left a mark. From his pocket he produces a worn, tattered piece of paper, but when he unfolds it I recognize the handwriting. Mine. It’s the first letter I wrote to him, and he quotes the line before my closing.

“All is forgiven.”

I shake my head, feeling the strange need to fight him as I fight forgiveness every time it’s offered to me, but I’ve learned that this is one game I never win. If I’m going to lose with dignity, I should accept defeat now. So I do.

Mateusz rotates me and guides my robe down until it’s fallen around my waist, and I close my eyes while he takes in the mangled mass of exposed flesh that stretches across my body. When he runs his fingers over the scars, the simple gesture slows the pounding beat of my heart. Once he re-covers me, I turn to face him. He draws me closer, and I lift my head, following his sharp jaw to the bow of his lips and slope of his nose until I reach his eyes. Such deep blue eyes. He’s always seen the girl, not the prisoner.

When his lips meet mine, I abandon myself to everything except the gentleness of his touch. Somehow he quells the hectic flurry inside me.