The words were respectful but firm.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
“Of course he wouldn’t,” I muttered, almost to myself. “He wouldn’t want anything to happen to the woman his daughter relies on.”
The words tasted sharp on my tongue.
Then, louder, I added, forcing control back into my tone:
“You can keep an eye on me. Just... give me space.”
A beat.
I could feel his reluctance again, heavy and familiar.
Then—
“Sure.”
I heard his footsteps retreat, not far, just enough to give the illusion of distance while still remaining present.
Close enough that I knew he hadn’t truly left.
Only repositioned.
Only then did I exhale fully.
My shoulders loosened slightly, tension I hadn’t realized I was holding draining out in slow increments.
The noise around me became clearer without his immediate presence beside me.
Conversations overlapped. Glasses clinked. Laughter rose and fell in uneven waves.
I turned forward, orienting myself toward the bar.
“Can I get a glass of aged rum, neat, please?” I asked, voice steady, projecting just enough to be heard over the music.
No immediate response.
I frowned slightly.
I raised my voice a fraction.
“Can I get a drink?”
A brief quiet ripple passed through the space in front of me. I could feel it—not see it. Like attention turning, like multiple heads shifting in my direction at once.
Then the bartender’s voice came.
Polite and careful.
“Yes, ma’am. Three minutes, please.”
“Okay,” I replied simply.
I rested my elbows lightly on the bar, letting the texture of polished surface ground me.
The music continued around me.
