She looks up at me.
Soft.
Hopeful.
“Come here,” she whispers.
God.
My chest physically aches.
I want to.
I want to so bad it scares me.
But wanting isn’t the same thing as safe.
I shake my head.
“Guest room,” I say gently.
She blinks. “Oh.”
Not angry.
Just… small.
“I just—” I clear my throat. “I’m trying to go slow. Okay?”
She nods immediately. Too fast.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. That’s… that’s good. Slow is good.”
She grabs her pillow like it weighs nothing and walks down the hall.
Doesn’t argue.
Doesn’t cry.
Doesn’t manipulate.
Just goes.
Which somehow hurts worse.
I lie awake for a long time.
Listening to the house breathe.
Listening to the quiet.
Thinking about how insane it is that the hardest part isn’t fighting her.
It’s not touching her.
This time the falling isn’t fire.
It isn’t crashing into each other like two trains.
