Dr. Klein let the silence linger before speaking again. Her voice softened, but it carried weight. "Do you hear what's happening here? Both of you were hiding. Ryder, you hid your abuse and fear. December, you hid your needs and your hurt. Together, you created a relationship built on silence and secrecy. Can you see how that shaped the foundation between you?"
I nodded, barely able to breathe. "Yes."
"That's why we have to be clear," Dr. Klein said. "This isn't about fixing the old relationship. You're not patching up a broken house, you're building something new. From the ground up. New parameters. Not rules born out of fear or survival, but ones you both choose together. That means honesty instead of hiding. Naming the pain instead of swallowing it. Reaching for each other instead of retreating. These aren't tricks; they're the architecture of your new bond."
I felt a tremor move through me, as though her words had touched something raw and hidden, "But what if the old reflexes keep showing up?"
Her gaze softened. "They will show up. Reflexes are scars, and scars don't vanish. But healing means you respond to them differently. The goal isn't to erase your past, but to learn how to notice when it surfaces, to pause, and to repair together. Thatcommitment—that practice—weakens the old reflexes over time. That's how trust grows. Not overnight. Not in one grand gesture. But in hundreds of small, faithful moments."
She leaned forward. "And I want to give you an exercise to start stacking those safe experiences." She looked between us. "Every night this week, before you go to bed, I want each of you to share one moment where you either felt trust or fear with the other. Just one. If it was trust, acknowledge it, let it be seen. If it was fear, name it gently without accusation. The point isn't to solve it in that moment. The point is to practice speaking it aloud. You'll be training your nervous systems that honesty doesn't equal danger, and that being heard can be safe."
Ryder nodded slowly, gripping my hand a little tighter. I exhaled, feeling the weight of the task, but also strangely, hope. For the first time, it felt like we weren't dragging the ruins of our old life behind us. We were sketching the outline of something new.
Chapter 26: Tiny Majesty and Giant Hearts
I forgot the last time I'd slept this serene. No work today. No deadlines. Just... nothing. I spent the morning luxuriating in bed, letting sunlight stretch across the room like a warm blanket. Eventually, hunger—or curiosity—dragged me downstairs, and what I found made me freeze.
Ryder was crouched on the floor, bottle in hand, coaxing a tiny, suspicious rabbit to drink. The rabbit's nose twitched like it already judged everything in the room, including Ryder. Ryder looked up, caught me staring, and winked, a mischievous, completely unbothered grin spreading across his face.
Margot's voice cut through the quiet. "Good morning, December! Or should I say... Witness to Tiny Majesty?"
I blinked. "What... what is going on?"
Ryder tilted his head, bottle still in hand. "You said you thought rabbits were cute... so I brought one."
I froze again. "You... brought a rabbit?"
"And we're discussing names," Ryder added, his tone faintly defensive.
I looked around the kitchen: Ryder crouched earnestly, the rabbit in his arms; Billy leaning against the counter, arms crossed, clearly trying not to smile; and Margot... Margot had already swooped in on the rabbit, squinting at it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
Margot gasped. "Ohhh! He's exquisite! Look at that nose! The poise! The subtlety! We can't just call him Mr. Bunny. No. No. We need grandeur! Nobility! Something that screamsI chew with elegance!"
Ryder groaned. "We're not hosting a coronation, Margot. He's a rabbit."
Margot waved him off like he'd just suggested defiling a cathedral. "Arabbit? My dear boy, he is practically a prince infur! I'm thinking... Lord Fluffington of Carrotshire! Or Baron von Hop-a-lot! Oh! Or Sir Wigglebottom the Third!"
Billy's dry voice cut through like a scalpel. "Sir Wigglebottom the Third. Of course. That's exactly what any sane adult would name a rabbit. Not."
Margot turned on him with scandal. "Billy! Don't mock! You clearly don't appreciate the artistry of a fine title!"
Billy arched an eyebrow. "Artistry? It's a rabbit. And it's chewing the leg of my chair. Hardly the Renaissance."
I couldn't help laughing, crouching a little closer to the tiny creature. The rabbit twitched its nose at me and I swear I heard a faint judgmental squeak. My chest squeezed. "He's... adorable," I whispered, reaching a finger toward the soft fur.
Margot swooped in again, ignoring me completely. "Yes, Dec, adore him. But know this: naming him is serious business. A name defines his destiny. Do we want a mischievous rogue, a regal aristocrat, or a hopeless romantic?"
Ryder rolled his eyes, though the twitch of a smile betrayed him. "How about... something simple? Like... Bob?"
Margot recoiled as if he'd just suggested we rename Buckingham Palace 'Shed.' "Bob? Bob?! Are you trying to destroy centuries of rabbit dignity?!"
Billy chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "You realize we've been arguing over a bottle-fed rabbit for, what... fifteen minutes?"
Margot clutched the rabbit to her chest, whispering conspiratorially, "Fifteen minutes? This is a lifetime in bunny years, Billy! A lifetime!"
I laughed so hard I almost dropped the rabbit, which promptly twitched and nuzzled into Ryder's chest. My heart melted. "I... I don't know what to call him," I said, half-swooning, completely lost in the tiny fluff.
Ryder's grin softened. "Whatever you want, Dec. He's yours too."
