It was not that he feared her not listening. It was, in fact, that he had to voice it at all, and make real the ideas which had, until now, been just that. Ideas. Thrown around almost carelessly, when he should have spent his time shepherding them instead. Guiding them back to the church.

That was the issue, though, and that was why he slowed and stopped before they reached it.

Malachi found himself voiceless, staring down at the one who had always looked up to him. He knew that she prioritized happiness. That she had expressed so many times that she just wanted him to find it, and that she would be there to support him all the while. But that didn’t make it any easier to force the words out of his mouth.

Averting his gaze, he peered down at her hands instead, and hesitantly took them into his own.

It was the way he’d always talked to her when he had something serious to say – but last time she’d been small enough that he had to crouch down to her level.

“Do you remember very much from before I joined the church?”

How old had she been then, six? He couldn't expect a well-kept record of any of that, but it was the only thing he got out.