Chapter 192: Letting Go

The struggle inside Nat was suffocating.

She wanted Ginger. She wanted the warmth of him, the way he steadied her without asking for anything in return. She wanted the safety of his arms, the quiet certainty of his love. And yet, every time she reached for him, something inside her pulled back.

The guilt was a relentless weight.

She still loved Roman. He had been her entire world, her heart, her home. How could she move on from that? How could she let herself want another man when the love she had for Roman still lived inside her?

Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages of her book, trying to distract herself from the war raging in her mind. The same book she had been struggling to finish for weeks now, the one she kept finding small, pressed sunflowers in, tiny reminders of a ghost who refused to fade.

And then she saw it.

A note.

Tucked between the pages, a small, folded piece of paper. Her breath hitched as she pulled it free, her fingers shaking as she unfolded it.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

I love you. Let go.

Roman.

A strangled sound left her throat, her eyes blurring with tears. Her hands clutched the note like it might disappear, like she might wake up and realize it was never real.

But it was real.

He had been here. He had left this for her. And he was telling her what she had been too afraid to hear.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the note to her chest, letting the words sink in.

Let go.

Could she?

She had spent so long holding on to him, to the love they had shared, to the idea that if she let herself move on, it would mean that their love hadn’t been real.

But it had been real.

And Roman was telling her it was okay.

That night, as she crawled into bed beside Ginger, she didn’t hesitate. She didn’t keep herself at a distance or pretend that she wasn’t seeking something deeper.

She pressed herself against him, letting her body mold to his, letting his warmth ease the ache inside her.

Ginger went still, his breath catching. "Nat?"

Her fingers curled into his shirt, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to fight it anymore."

A shaky exhale. Then, gently, carefully, he reached for her, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against his chest. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for anything more than she was willing to give. He just held her.

But she wanted more. Needed more.

Nat tilted her head up, her lips brushing over his jaw, testing, searching. Ginger sucked in a breath, his fingers flexing against her back.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice strained with restraint.

Nat nodded. "Yes."

Something in him broke then, but he was still careful, still gentle, as he cupped her face in his hands, brushing his lips over hers in the softest, slowest kiss. It was different from anything they had ever shared before—no urgency, no desperation, just love.

He took his time, letting her set the pace, letting her decide how far she was ready to go. When she pulled him closer, he let her. When she sighed into his mouth, he deepened the kiss, his hands mapping her skin with quiet reverence.

The way he touched her was different from Roman. Ginger didn’t take—he gave. He moved with her, not against her, like he was memorizing her body in a way that had nothing to do with possession and everything to do with worship.

When he finally pushed inside her, their bodies aligning in the softest, most natural rhythm, it didn’t feel like something new or unfamiliar. It felt like coming home.

Nat gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he moved slowly, so slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He whispered her name between kisses, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath mixing with hers as he filled her, surrounded her, anchored her.

"I love you," he murmured, and for the first time, Nat didn’t flinch at the words.

She let them settle inside her, let them warm the places inside her that had been cold for too long.

As they moved together, as her release shattered through her and he followed soon after, she realized something.

Letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean replacing.

It meant choosing to keep living.

And as Ginger held her close, brushing soft kisses over her temple, she knew she had finally made that choice.

Bound together in the aftermath of their love-making, their breaths still mingling in the dim light, Nat lifted her head from Ginger’s chest.

"I need to tell you something," she whispered, her fingers tracing soft patterns along his skin.

Ginger’s arms tightened around her, his voice low, steady. "You can tell me anything, Nat."

She exhaled shakily, gathering the courage she needed. "Roman’s been leaving things for the kids. Little gifts, small notes. He left one for me too." She hesitated, searching his face. "I didn’t want to keep it from you. I don’t want secrets. Not with you."

Ginger’s expression didn’t shift in anger or jealousy, only quiet understanding. His thumb brushed over her cheek, his voice gentle. "What did it say?"

Her throat tightened. "He told me to let go."

Ginger exhaled, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "And do you want to?"

Nat swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I do. And I want this—you, us. But I want to do it right. No hiding, no guilt. Just… love."

Ginger pulled her close again, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Then that’s what we’ll do."

She let out a shuddering breath, curling into him once more. And for the first time, there were no ghosts between them—only the quiet promise of something new.