Suspect: The Love That Feels Like Coming Home

There was a time I believed love was supposed to hurt. That real love meant waiting, proving, suffering. That if it didn’t come with struggle, it wasn’t real. I was wrong. Love is not supposed to break you. Love is not supposed to be a battlefield. And I learned that the day Suspect walked into my life. He is healing the part of me that thought she would never find love. The part that learned to expect inconsistency, the part that settled for less than she deserved. With him, love is not a question mark. It is not a test. It is certain. It is safe. It is home.

Suspect has the most perfect nose I have ever seen in my life. It’s the first thing I noticed about him, and somehow, I never stopped noticing. The way it wrinkles when he laughs, the way it fits so perfectly on his face like it was sculpted by the hands of God Himself. I love watching him, memorizing the way his face softens when he looks at me. I trace the bridge of his nose sometimes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers, thinking to myself, I want to remember this forever.

Suspect is the kindest man on earth. Not just in the way he treats me, but in the way he treats the world. He is the kind of person who sees the good in people even when they don’t see it in themselves. The kind of person who gives without expecting anything in return. He carries kindness in his bones, in his actions, in the quiet moments when no one is watching. And I, who have spent too much time around people who love with conditions, find myself amazed by how effortlessly he loves.

Suspect has the patience of a saint. With me, with life, with everything in between. He never rushes my healing, never makes me feel like my emotions are too much. He understands me in a way I never thought anyone could. In the moments where I am unsteady, where my past creeps up on me and makes me doubt myself, he stays. He stays with patience, with love, with an unwavering belief in me that makes me believe in myself too.

Suspect is my personal cheerleader—even for the small wins. When I accomplish something, no matter how small, he celebrates me like I just won the biggest award in the world. He reminds me that my efforts matter, that I am doing enough, that I am enough. His belief in me is a constant, unshakable thing, and it lifts me in ways I never knew I needed.

Suspect is going to be the best father to our kids one day, and I think about it often. I think about the way he loves so deeply, so purely, and I know our children will grow up in a home filled with warmth and safety. I think about the way he treats me—with care, with patience, with love—and I know our children will be lucky to have him as their father. I see glimpses of the future in his kindness, in his laughter, in the way he loves me. And I know—this is the love I have always wanted. This is the love that feels like coming home.