She knows how it feels from her end, to even consider the implication of the bruising around his neck. It hurts, a stabbing pain like nothing she has felt before. She can see it in her mind, the scene so vivid and detailed it makes her feel physically ill, sick right down to her stomach. A part of her wants nothing more than to slap him silly for his stupidity, but she is just as aware that she herself is not guiltless in this, that they both came dangerously close to slipping away. It's a wonder they're here together at all.

A miracle.

In the moment, she has trouble seeing it as such, even if she believes it now more than ever. This miracle, unlike the rest, presents itself as a double-edged sword. What comes next won't be remotely easy, but it is inevitable, and she owes it to him.

Sitting up slowly — he deserves more than a murmured confession muffled into his own shirt — it takes Anabelle a moment, maybe longer, to finally turn and face him. His expression makes her breath catch, her throat swell, and more than anything, she hates that they got this far at all, that it took nearly taking her own life to realize she had something to live for all along. When she does speak, her voice barely rises above a whisper, "I almost — I made a mistake, but then I saw your message and I realized... I don't know, I, I realized there's actually someplace in this world I belong."