Chapter 106: Lisa’s Unshakable Happiness

Lisa’s POV

In the stillness, I sense it first.

Not when Leo makes me laugh, or when he takes my hand as a matter of course, or when we exchange those look-at-me-straight-in-the-eyes-glances that still make my heart race.

I see it when I’m by myself—when I’m brushing my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, when I’m kettleside or while I’m at work reading through emails.

I’m smiling.

Not the slick, practiced sort that I perfected years ago. Not the smiling, tired or disappointed look. This one feels different. From somewhere in the depths of my chest it begins to roam, and I can’t resist following where it takes me, like my body is betraying what my heart already comprehends.

I’m happy.

The awareness blindsides me the first few times I feel that way. Happiness always seemed conditional — breakable, temporary, something I grasped at because I couldn’t rely on it to linger. I learned to brace myself during good times too, for the other shoe to drop.

But that happiness doesn’t seem to be waiting for permission to come in, now. And it is.

I’m in the kitchen making coffee when Leo walks in, hair a little damp from the shower.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing,” I say too reflexively.

He cocks his head. “You’re smiling again.”

I chuckle quietly, slightly ashamed. “Am I?”

“Is that so,” he says, amused and inquisitive. “Go ahead and do that now. A lot.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

The phrase settles over me softly, like a truth I don't have to debate. “I feel like it too.”

He doesn’t give anymore. He just moves closer, kisses my temple, and makes himself coffee. There’s no fanfare. No dramatic pronouncement.

Just a quiet confidence.

It’s the same at work. I glimpse at my reflection in the conference room’s glass walls, standing taller and speaking with a confidence that feels earned and genuine rather than feigned. I don’t dismiss or downplay my ideas anymore when colleagues praise them. They are right. They don’t shake me like they used to when things get difficult.

I realize something during a mid-morning meeting: I am no longer carrying the ever-present hum of doubt.

For such a long time, and I have only myself to blame for it, I spent something in my energy reserves managing emotional exhaustion — wondering if I was good enough, if I was noticed, if I was appreciated. That weight has been lifted these days. Replaced with something lighter. Stronger.

Support.

Leo checks in during the day—not obsessively, not possessively. Just a message here, a voice note there.

Hope your presentation went well.

Thinking about you.

Dinner later?

Simple words. Profound impact.

During lunch, I sit at the window and allow myself to really experience it, for the whole moment. Happiness. The peace. The odd, amazing sense of stability that comes with not walking alone anymore.

This is not the dizzying early days of romance. It’s deeper than that. Rooted. Won with honesty, forgiveness, and choosing one another even when it might have been easier to do otherwise.

After work, I step into the house and instantly get that feeling — the warmth, the feeling of home that’s embedded in the walls. This is where we used to be steeled against crying out. With unspoken rules about space and silence.

It’s alive now, anyway.

Leo’s in the living room, leafing through a book, glasses teetering precariously on the end of his nose. He looks up when I hear myself and smiles—he’s not shocked to see me, he’s not distracted. Just… pleased.

“How was your day?” he checks in.

“Good, I say, and then stop. “No. Great.”

“That’s my favorite answer.”

I take off my shoes and sit up next to him, leaning into his side. He tucks an arm around me without skipping a beat, his thumb stroking my arm in that tiny, well known manner that never fails to warm me up.

“I was thinking today,” I say softly.

“That’s usually a big deal,” he says.

I thought happiness was noisy,” I continue. “Big things. Big moments. Evidence that everything was working out.”

“What about now? ” he asks.

“Now I think it’s this,” I say, waving vaguely at our surroundings. “Coming home and breathing out. Feeling secure enough to be myself. Wondering if I make a difference.” he tightens his jaw a fraction, a muscle in his face twitches with emotion.

“You always mattered.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But   now I feel it. Every day.”

We sat there for a long time in silence, not wanting to intrude on the quiet. The night progresses naturally—supper, soft music, the two of us laughing over some meaningless thing. I find myself more than once looking at him, and thinking how simultaneously familiar and new he is.

Later, as we are going to bed, I stand at the mirror once more. Same place as that morning.

Same face.

But it’s different inside.

Leo comes up behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“You look happy,” he says quietly.

“I am,” I say without hesitation.

“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that.”

“Like what?”

“At peace.”

How the word resonates on a deep level.

We climb into bed, the sheets are cold, his body warm next to mine. I shift toward him, nestling myself against his chest. Instinctively, his arms close around me, and once again he holds me protectively without that oppressive pressure.

As I settle, a thought drifts through me — bright and unmistakable.

This joy is no coincidence.

It’s built. Chosen. Sustained by trust, and work, and bravery to show up honestly. It’s what happens when two people decide that love is not only something you feel, but it’s also something you do. I used to be afraid of happiness — that to want it would make losing it unbearable.

Everything new looked at with new visions.There is no need to tiptoe around happiness as if it is a fragile thing.

It is alive and well and wants to be cared for.

Wrapped in Leo’s arms, my heart steady and my breath at rest, I let myself smile one last time before sleep claims me—knowing, without a shred of doubt, that this happiness is real.

And that’s the difference, this time it’s for keeps. I stood on my toe and kissed me tenderly, with his hand sliding to my waist, he pulled me closed as I savored his lips.