Two words. An open door. No questions I’m not ready to answer yet.
By the time I get to her place, it’s past midnight. The building is quiet, the hallway dimly lit. I knock on the door as softly as I can, though I know she’s awake.
Melissa: It’s open. Come on in and lock the door behind you.
I walk into the apartment, Kayla nowhere to be found, then head for Melissa’s room.
She’s sitting up in bed when I step into her room, hair loose, one of my T-shirts hanging off one shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, just lifts the covers and holds them open.
I don’t remember deciding to move.
I’m suddenly there, sliding into bed beside her, the tension in my body releasing all at once, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.
She curls into me without a word, her head settling against my chest like it belongs there. Her arm wraps around my waist firmly.
It’s the first time all night that I stop bracing myself.
“It doesn’t look good,” I say quietly.
She nods against me. “I know.”
She’s not sayingI’m sorryor telling me everything will be okay.
My throat constricts. Swallowing becomes impossible.
“I went through everything,” I continue, staring up at the ceiling. “Every scan. Every protocol. Every option I could think of. There’s nothing else to adjust.”
Her hand moves slowly up and down my arm. She’s not trying to fix. She’s just here.
“He’s tired,” I say. “His body is tired. It’s like it’s … done fighting.”
She presses closer, her forehead resting against my collarbone. “That happens.”
The way she says it tells me she isn’t speaking from textbooks.
“I hate knowing,” I admit. “I hate being the one who sees it first.”
“I know you do,” she murmurs.
The room is quiet, except for the faint hum of the city outside. No urgency. No pressure to say more than I can.
“I feel like if I stop thinking about it, I’m giving up on him,” I say.
She lifts her head slightly to look at me. “And if you don’t stop?”
“I drown.”
She nods. “Then let me hold some of it with you.”
A crack opens in my chest at her words. Her offering to take some of my load if it’s too much to bear.
We lie there like that for a long time. I don’t check the clock. I don’t replay the numbers in my head. For the first time all day, my mind slows enough to let my body catch up.
She shifts slightly, tucking herself closer, her leg draped over mine, her palm flat against my chest, like she’s reminding me to stay here.
“You don’t have to be the strong one right now,” she says softly.
With that, her permission, I close my eyes. No one has ever said that to me without expecting strength in return.
