Chapter 34: Two Souls—One Bleeding, One Healing

Victoria blinked. "Excuse me?"

Her mind raced. Had she ever told him she was a lawyer?

He grinned. "You're always so hard on yourself—like your own worst prosecutor. But have you ever thought... maybe God's the only Judge, and He's also your Defence?"

Victoria stared. Why does he always say the exact thing I didn't know I needed to hear?

"And mercy..." Liam continued, voice low, thoughtful. "It's not about deserving. It's about choosing to love, despite the case stacked against someone."

Something lodged in Victoria's throat.

"Is that what you think of... people like me?" she whispered.

Liam's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"

"People who... struggle." She hesitated, fingers curling against her sleeve. "With... things."

Liam's voice was steady, unwavering. "Victoria, there's not a single sin in this world that changes how much God wants us home. Not one."

She left that day shaking.

***

Victoria didn't come back for three days.

Liam noticed.

He kept carving, hands steady, but his mind wandered more than it should. Every knock at the door made him glance up—only to find a delivery boy or the neighbor's kid. Never her.

On the fourth day, as dusk painted the sky in burnt gold, she appeared.

All polished and professional, trying—and failing—to hide the flush in her cheeks.

Liam said nothing, but deep inside, he exhaled. Relief settled in his chest, sharp and sudden. Only now did he realize how much he had been waiting.

"You're back," he murmured, voice low—almost... pleased.

"I have... some thoughts about the design," she blurted, brushing past him into the workshop. The words sounded foolish even to her own ears.

Liam didn't call her out on it.

"Of course," he said, voice steady. "Show me."

Victoria unfolded the sketches—none of them hers. She had forced her team to work on them all night, just so she would have an excuse to come. Her hands trembled as she laid them out.

Liam didn't even glance at the papers. Instead, he leaned against the table, arms folded, eyes steady on her face.

"Tell me what's really on your mind, Victoria."

She stiffened. "I—what?"

"You heard me." His voice was impossibly gentle, yet left no room to run. "You didn't come for the design."

Her throat tightened. "You don't know me."

Liam didn't flinch. "I know the look of someone fighting a battle no one else sees."

The words struck so precisely that Victoria felt them like a physical blow. She looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Liam let the silence settle before speaking again.

"Remember the unfinished butterfly carving I gave you?" His voice was quiet. "I'm waiting to finish it when you're ready."

Something inside her snapped.

Desperate to claw back control, she blurted, "Why are you so sure? Why aren't you scared of me? People don't... men don't... look at me like you do."

Liam's jaw tightened. "And how do I look at you?"

"Like I'm... not broken."

"You're not," he said—steady, sure. "You're just... lost. Like the rest of us."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "You don't know what I've done. Who I've been with. The things I've... believed."

Liam's voice dropped to a whisper. "Try me."

Tears welled before she could stop them—hot, angry, relentless. "You'll find me disgusting."

"I won't."

"You will." Her voice cracked, breaking open. "I was with... women. I loved women. And I ruined everything good because I couldn't see past it. I—" Her body trembled as she choked on the words. "I don't know how to come back from it."

Liam stood frozen. Then, slowly, he crossed the small distance—no judgment, no hesitation—and stopped right in front of her, leaving space. Respectful. Safe.

"Victoria," he murmured, "listen to me. You are not too far gone for grace."

Victoria broke. Right there. Tears she didn't know she had carried spilled—hard, ugly, shaking sobs that wracked her entire frame. "Why... why are you saying this to me?"

"Because," Liam said, reaching out—and with a gentleness she never expected—wiped her tears away with his rough thumb, "I think you need someone to say it. And mean it."

Victoria shuddered under his touch. It wasn't lust. It wasn't confusion. It was something terrifyingly safe. Like being seen... and not rejected. She cried harder, covering her face with both hands, sure she must look so ugly right now.

Liam didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Instead, with slow, deliberate care, he reached out and gently pried her hands away.

"Look at me, Victoria."

She tried to resist, but his grip was firm. Not forceful. Just... sure.

And when she finally met his gaze, she gasped.

There was no judgment there. No pity. Just a steady, almost fierce compassion that stole her breath.

"You are not beyond repair," Liam said, voice low, gravel-edged. "You're not."

And then—as if moved by something greater than himself—he did what no one else ever dared.

Liam leaned in... and pressed his forehead against hers. The realization of what he was doing hit him, but it didn't stop him. He didn't think—he just felt that this... was necessary.

It wasn't sexual. It wasn't romantic.

It was sacred.

A silent vow. A man telling a broken woman: I see you. I'm here. I'm not afraid of your darkness.

Victoria froze, every nerve screaming. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to collapse into him. She did neither.

Instead, she whispered the truest thing she had ever said, "I don't know how to be... normal."

Liam's lips curved into the faintest smile, his forehead still resting on hers. "Good. Normal's overrated. I'll take honest over normal any day."

They stayed like that—suspended between breaking and healing.

When Liam finally pulled back, his hands lingered a second longer. "Go home, Victoria," he said softly. "Rest. We're not done. Not by a long shot. But you need to breathe."

Victoria gazed at him through wet eyes, swallowing hard. "Liam..."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing this?"

He took a deep breath. "Because someone once did it for me."

And that was it. No grand declarations. No confessions. Just the quiet, undeniable bond of two broken people... daring to hope.

The world outside dimmed, and the golden light faded into a dusky hush. But neither moved. Victoria's tears had long dried, leaving a quiet ache in her chest—but it wasn't the same ache she had known all these years. This one was... lighter. Still painful, but somehow hopeful.

Liam finally broke the silence, voice steady, "I should've said this earlier—about the bulk order. I was wrong to dismiss it so quickly."

Victoria blinked, surprised. "You... really?"

Liam shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "I've been stubborn. Prideful, maybe. I told myself it was about logistics—the time, the manpower. But the truth is... I was scared. Scared that if I carved for strangers, it'd lose meaning. I don't... create well when it's just business."

Victoria's lips parted, but she stayed silent.

"I carve when the story speaks," he continued, gaze dropping to Victoria's face.

Liam's voice softened, almost a whisper, "But then you came... with your storm, your walls... and suddenly, I wanted to understand the story behind the order. Your eyes... they weren't about business. There was something else. Something you were carrying."

Victoria was speechless, startled at how effortlessly he had read her.

"I didn't know what it was... until today." Liam glanced at the wood pieces messily yet beautifully laid on the working table.

"You're fighting a battle I can't see. But it's there. And somehow, that made me realize—this project isn't just a commission. It's a bridge. A way for me... to stand with you."

Victoria's breath hitched. Stand with me? No one—not even the women she once chased after—had ever said such words to her, let alone meant them without any expectation of taking something from her. The sincerity of it made her throat tighten painfully.

"And so... I'll do it," Liam finally said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "I'll carve every single piece. Myself. But there's one condition."

Her eyes didn’t dare blink, afraid to miss whatever he would say next, her heart pounding.

"You work with me," he said, voice firmer now. "Not as a negotiater. Not as President Victor's sister. As you. Victoria Langford. You'll be here—every day I carve—until we're done. I don't care if you sand the edges, or polish, or just sit there staring at the sky. You stay. You see it through."

Her jaw tightened, her pride and old instincts roaring up in resistance. But another part of her—the part long starved of meaning, of belonging—ached to say yes.

"Why?" she rasped. "Why make me stay?"

Liam's eyes softened. "Because if you walk away again, you'll never forgive yourself. And neither will I."

Victoria flinched, his words hitting somewhere too raw. "You... think I'm running."

"I know you're still running." He stood slowly, towering over her but never imposing. Instead, his hand reached out—open, patient, waiting. "Don't run this time."

She stared at his hand like it was a lifeline—and maybe it was. Hesitation warred within her, every learned instinct screaming at her to back away. But... what if, just this once, she didn't?

She wrestled within for a while, and then with trembling fingers, Victoria placed her hand in his.

Liam's grasp was firm, warm—grounding. "We start tomorrow."

The air shifted, a silent covenant sealed between them.

And for the first time in years, Victoria didn't feel like the lost one chasing after something she could never have. For the first time, someone chose to stay simply because he saw her.

The last rays of sunlight faded, leaving them standing together in the quiet.

Two souls—one bleeding, one healing—meeting in the middle of the wreckage.

Victoria exhaled shakily. "I'll stay."

Liam smiled—wide, genuine—and it was the most beautiful, disarming thing she had ever seen. "Good."

And somehow... good felt like a promise.

***

The next morning arrived gentler than Victoria expected. No heaviness pressing down her chest, no urge to escape. Just a quiet determination, and a strange fluttering in her stomach she stubbornly refused to name.

She arrived at Liam's workshop earlier than agreed. The place was still—morning light filtering through the slats, catching dust motes in its golden beams. The scent of cedar and pine greeted her, earthy and grounding. She stood there, soaking it in, wondering if she had made a mistake.

"You're early."

His voice startled her. She turned to find Liam leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled, hair still damp from a shower. There was no teasing smirk, no triumphant gloating. Just... a quiet acknowledgment. Somehow, it made her heart ache more.

She had braced for judgment, maybe even anger. But this—this silent grace—unraveled her. It told her he meant it when he said he would stay, that yesterday wasn't a dream.

"Couldn't sleep," she confessed, voice rough.

Liam nodded, understanding. "Me neither."

And just like that, something unspoken bridged between them—two people carrying restless hearts.

"I made tea." He gestured inside.

Victoria followed, almost accustomed to the simple gesture. This—the mundane, the ordinary—felt more intimate than the late-night confessions of her past.

They sat, the steam rising between them, neither speaking. Until Liam broke the silence.

"I was thinking about the design last night," he said. "The scripture. I know you weren't sure... but there's weight in choosing why you want that verse."

Victoria hesitated. "It's not mine," she admitted. "Kaylee chose it."

Liam didn't say anything, he waited for her to continue.

"I didn't believe it fit me," she added bitterly. "Until... yesterday."

He looked at her then—truly looked. "You're allowed to want that kind of love too, you know. The kind that covers. Redeems."

Her throat tightened. "You make it sound so... possible."

"That's because it is." He smiled gently. "We just don't get to choose the shape it takes. Sometimes... it looks like this." He gestured around them. "Sawdust. Rough hands. Ugly beginnings."

That pulled a small, unexpected laugh from Victoria. "Ugly beginnings, huh?"

Liam chuckled. "You should've seen my first carving. It looked like a potato pretending to be a bird."

She laughed harder, the sound surprising them both. For a moment, Victoria felt... light.

They moved to the workbench, Liam rolling out sketches.

"I was thinking... wood medallions. Simple. Round. A carved vine wrapping around a heart at the center."

He sketched as he spoke—rough but beautiful—life flowing from his fingertips.

"The vine is love," he explained. "Not just romantic—but divine. Covering, surrounding... sheltering the heart."

Victoria's breath caught. How could something so simple carry so much weight?

Liam glanced at her, sensing the shift. "Unless you had something else in mind?"

She shook her head. "No. That... that's perfect."

***

With the design finalized, they finally got to work, for real. By then, it had been over two weeks since Victoria first arrived at Liam’s workshop.

Side by side—Liam carving, Victoria sanding the edges. Her hands fumbled at first—too delicate, too careful. Liam chuckled and gently guided her fingers.

"Like this. Strong strokes. The wood won't break."

Victoria gritted her teeth. "I'm not good at... gentle strength."

"I noticed," Liam teased lightly, earning a glare that softened too quickly.

Hours passed in that quiet rhythm—the scrape of tools, the occasional sigh. And then, as the sun dipped, a child appeared—a boy no older than six, clinging shyly to the doorframe.

Liam smiled, waving him in. "Hey, champ. Come."

Victoria watched, puzzled, as the boy approached—wide-eyed, curious. "He's from the orphanage," Liam explained softly. "Comes by sometimes to learn."

The boy climbed onto a stool, watching Victoria with unabashed curiosity. "Are you Master Liam's... girlfriend?"

Victoria choked on her breath, while Liam burst out laughing. "No, buddy. She's... a friend."

The boy shrugged, unconvinced. "You look pretty together. And it’s good to see someone with you."

Victoria turned beet red. Liam ruffled the boy's hair. "Alright, little matchmaker. Let's get to work."

Still flushed, Victoria caught the one thing that lingered in her mind: So he had been lonely all this while?

As they carved, the boy suddenly asked, “Master Liam… why do you always carve words? Are they from the Bible?”

Liam paused, thoughtful. "Because God's Word reminds me—every day—that I'm forgiven. No matter how many times I mess up."

The boy frowned. "Even when you get angry? Or... lie?"

"Especially then," Liam smiled. "I try. I fail. I try again. And God... He always welcomes me home."

Victoria froze—the words piercing through her armor like an arrow. God always welcomes me home. She blinked fast, swallowing hard.

Liam caught her gaze but said nothing. Instead, he smiled—soft, knowing.

Later, when the boy left, Liam found Victoria sitting outside, staring at the horizon.

"Hey," he called gently.

She didn't look at him. "That... what you said to him."

He sat beside her. "It wasn't just for him, was it?"

"No," she whispered.

Silence stretched.

"I... I'm scared," Victoria confessed, voice trembling. "What if I can't change? What if I'll always... go back?"

Liam was quiet for a long time. Then, softly, "Do you know what they call lawyers in court?"

She blinked, confused, why relate to lawyer again? "Counsel."

"Exactly," he smiled. "You argue cases. You fight, for truth. But sometimes, the best counsel is the one who knows when to fall silent and let grace speak."

Victoria's lips trembled. "Grace..."

"You can't win this case, Victoria. Not by fighting harder. You win... by surrendering."

His hand brushed hers lightly. "And grace... is the only argument left standing."

Tears were welling up in her beautiful eyes, but she was determined to hold them back and not cry again. She had cried too much lately.

"I can't fix you," he murmured. "But I can stand here... until you're ready to walk forward."

His words shattered her.

And somehow, in that moment, Victoria understood—this was no man trying to fix or claim her. This was a man... offering to stay.

No conditions. No demands.

Just... stay.

***

The next few weeks unfolded like a quiet rhythm neither of them dared to disturb. Victoria found herself returning to Liam's workshop earlier each morning—before the world fully woke, before she could talk herself out of it.

There was no need for words anymore. She simply showed up, and he... let her.

They worked side by side, perfecting the wood medallions, sanding edges until they were smooth as silk. Every now and then, Liam would hum an old hymn under his breath—a habit, unthinking—and Victoria would freeze, the unfamiliar peace wrapping around her like a soft blanket.

"What song is that?" she asked one morning, surprising herself.

Liam glanced at her, half-smiling. "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. Old hymn. My mother sang it when I was little."

Victoria nodded slowly. "It's nice."

He smiled, and then continued humming, letting the melody fill the space between them.

Later, while carving, Victoria caught herself staring at Liam's hands—rough, strong, careful. There was something mesmerizing in the way he worked—every stroke purposeful, every movement precise. Unlike the men she knew—men who grabbed, took, demanded—Liam's hands... created.

"I keep wondering," she murmured suddenly, "how you learned to be like this."

Liam's knife paused. "Like what?"

She struggled for words. "Gentle. Patient."

Liam let out a soft breath. "I wasn't always. Took me years. Still working on it."

"Why?" she pressed.

He smiled wryly. "My father," Liam finally said. "He was a craftsman. Good with his hands, terrible with his heart. He had dreams bigger than what this town could hold. When those dreams fell apart, he broke. And... he ran."

Victoria's breath caught.

"I was ten," Liam continued, voice steady but eyes far away. "Sat right there by the door. Watched him leave without a word. He didn't even look back. My mother... she never said a bad word about him. But every night, I'd hear her cry when she thought I was asleep."

Victoria blinked rapidly, throat tightening.

"I grew up hating him. Not just for leaving. But for teaching me that love is... temporary. Conditional. Only good until the world turns ugly."

He laughed, bitter and quiet. "It took me years to stop waiting by that door... half hoping, half dreading he'd come back."

Silence fell again. Not awkward. Heavy. Sacred.

Victoria's eyes glistened. "Did he ever come back?"

Liam shook his head. "No. But someone else stayed. An old man who had no reason to care. He taught me... that staying is a choice. And I promised myself, if I ever love someone, I'd stay. No matter how ugly life gets."

His eyes locked with hers then—clear, vulnerable. "So... when I tell you I'm here, Victoria... it's not because I don't know what it costs to stay. It's because you're worth the cost."

Something so moving stirred within her so strongly. After feeling out of words for a while, she whispered, "Thank you... for telling me."

Liam smiled faintly. "Now we're even, aren't we?"

And in that moment, the workshop—full of sawdust, unfinished carvings, and two scarred souls—felt like the safest place in the world.

That evening, as they wrapped up, Victoria lingered—hesitant, restless. "Can I... see your other work?"

Liam arched a brow but nodded, leading her to the back—a small, private section of the workshop. "These... are pieces I don't sell."

Victoria's breath caught as she took in the carvings—rough crosses, tiny birds, a half-finished sculpture of a woman kneeling. Raw. Honest.

"This one," Liam said, pointing to the woman, "was my mother. She used to pray like that."

Victoria touched the wooden figure carefully. "You miss her."

"Every day."

Victoria swallowed. “I never… really prayed like that.”

Truthfully, she couldn’t even remember the last time she had truly prayed on her own.

Liam studied her. "Want to learn?"

She flinched. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Liam smiled—not mocking, but soft, patient. "Start by sitting. The rest... we figure out."

For a moment, the air felt charged—something had shifted between them. Victoria felt her defenses crumbling, piece by piece, and it terrified her.

"I should go," she whispered.

Liam startled for a split second at the sudden goodbye, then nodded. "Okay."

But just as she turned, he called out, "Victoria."

She paused.

"I'm not here to save you," he said, voice steady. "I just... don't want you to walk this alone."

Victoria bit her lip hard, her heart pounding. "I don't know what to do with someone like you."

Liam smiled faintly. "Good. That means I'm doing it right."

That night, Victoria sat awake, staring at the sky outside her window—the stars blinking like tiny witnesses.

For the first time in years, she prayed.

It was messy, awkward, broken. But it was real.

And somehow, in the quiet, she could hear Liam's voice—steady, calm—reminding her, Grace is the only argument left standing.

***

The next morning, Victoria came later than usual—restless from a night of barely-there sleep.

A past shame haunted her and she struggled in her nightmare the whole night. By the time she finally managed to fight her eyes open, it was way past 9am.

When she got to Liam's workshop, he was already working, the late morning light slanting through the windows, catching the dust in golden beams.

Without a word, she grabbed a piece of wood and sat across from him. It should have felt easy—this quiet companionship—but today, something gnawed at her.

Liam noticed. He always did.

"Talk to me," he said finally, setting down his tools.

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