Too Late 14

 

Chapter 14 

I stared at the IV drip beside me, trying to blink away the sting in my eyes. My arms ached, bruised from where I’d fallen. My right wrist had a small burn wrapped in gauze, and my lungs still felt raw from the smoke. But I was alive. Barely. 

I turned my head slowly and looked at Joseph sitting beside me. His hair was messy, eyes tired, a faint cut on his cheek from forcing the door open to save me. 

He hadn’t left my side since. 

But the moment he saw my eyes open, he stood quickly. “You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice careful, as if afraid I’d vanish. 

I didn’t answer right away. My throat was dry. My heart, heavier than ever. 

Then the memory hit me like a crashing wave-the fire, the smoke, the paintings. 

I shot up, gasping. “My things. Joseph-my paintings, my dresses, my sketchbooks-” 

He caught me gently by the shoulders. “Hey. Shh. Don’t push yourself. You’re still recovering.” 

Tears filled my eyes. “They’re gone, aren’t they?” 

He hesitated. That was all I needed. 

I broke. 

My chest heaved as sobs escaped me, uncontrollable, unfiltered. Everything I had worked on- everything I had poured my soul into-had burned to ash. My art. My dreams. My memories. Even the gifts Joseph had given me. 

All gone. 

“I lost everything,” I cried. 

Joseph didn’t try to stop the tears. He simply held me, arms wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting on the crown of my head. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

For a long moment, we stayed like that-me crying into his shirt, him whispering small, soothing words I could barely hear. 

Finally, I managed to ask, voice cracked, “What happened? Why did someone do this?” 

Joseph sighed. “There’s been a string of break-ins around the city. It’s been getting worse. Robbery’s a growing issue-especially from undocumented settlers. People desperate to survive, some turning violent. You’re not the only one this happened to. The authorities are investigating.” “So it wasn’t personal?” I whispered. 

“No. It was a horrible coincidence. But what matters is-you’re safe.” He looked me in the eyes. “I almost lost you.” 

I swallowed hard. “But where do I go now? I don’t have a place. I have no clothes, no supplies… nothing.” 

Joseph didn’t even pause. “You’ll stay with me.” 

I blinked. “In your place?” 

He nodded. “Of course. I know we haven’t really talked about… us. But I think you know how I feel. And I think maybe… you feel the same.” 

His eyes searched mine, nervous but sure. 

I didn’t answer right away. My heart was still aching, still afraid. But deep down… I did feel the same. I just didn’t know how to say it. 

“What if I become a burden?” I whispered. 

He cupped my cheek, gentle and steady. “Allison, you could never be a burden to me. Ever.” Something in me cracked open at that. Not broken this time-but healed. 

“I want that,” I whispered. “To stay. With you.” 

He smiled softly. “Then it’s settled.” 

A few days later, after my discharge, the police caught the arsonist. A repeat offender. The stolen goods were gone, but justice had been served. 

And Joseph? He had spent those days transforming his spare room. 

When we walked into his apartment, he gave me a small tour before pausing in front of a white door. 

‘This,” he said, “is yours.” 

opened it slowly. 

nside was an art room. 

Sunlight spilled in from the window. A new easel stood near the corner, a fresh set of brushe: and paints lined the shelves. A drafting table sat by the wall with new sketchbooks stacked neatly. There was even a little vase of peonies-my favorite. 

turned to him, breath caught in my throat. “You… did all this?” 

He shrugged, almost shy. “I know you lost everything. I can’t give it all back. But I wanted you to have a space where you could start again.” 

Tears pricked my eyes, but this time, they weren’t from grief. 

They were from something warmer. 

Hope. 

stepped closer and threw my arms around him, burying my face into his neck. “Thank you.” 

His hands slid to my waist, holding me gently. 

When I pulled back slightly, our eyes met-and for the first time, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t hesitate. 

I leaned in. 

And we kissed. 

Slow. Real. Certain. 

When our lips parted, I rested my forehead against his. 

“I think,” I whispered, “I’m ready to love again.” 

He smiled. “And I’ll be here. Every step of the way.” 

In that moment, wrapped in the scent of paint and peonies, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long 

Chapter 14