There's no disgust there.
No disappointment.
No resentment.
He's not looking at me like I’m the horrible person I've believed myself to be for so long.
“You are not at fault here,” he insists. “I know you feel like that, and I can't believe you've been carrying this on your own for so long… but it isn't your fault.”
I drag in a wobbly breath, unable to look away.
“You did what you needed to do for yourself. It's just incredibly fucking unfortunate that that was the night his body gave up. But that man loved you. Still loves you more than anything.” I grip his wrists, holding onto him as he continues. “What you did for him… what you gave up to take care of him is more than any child should ever have to carry. You were just a kid when he was diagnosed, so no, you didn't do anything wrong.”
I don't say anything; I can't. All I can feel is his touch and his calm voice soothing me, assuring me that I'm not to blame.
Another tear, one of countless others I've shed today, slides down my cheek and onto his thumb, which gently strokes my damp skin back and forth.
“You're only human, and life dumped a shitty, unfair situation on you that nobody your age should have had to deal with.”
He exhales slowly. “I’m so damn proud of you, and I’m so sorry I wasn't there for you back then,” he admits sadly. “But I swear to you… I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for that baby.”
My chest shudders with another breath, but this time it doesn't feel like I’m drowning.
Just relief.
I think… This is what I needed.
If Elijah hadn't brought me here, I believe I would have carried that guilt with me for the rest of my life. Finally expressing it and hearing what he had to say eased the pain in my chest.
The guilt hasn't completely disappeared, but it no longer suffocates me. It's just another thing I need to learn to live with.
Months ago, I was ready to give up. Completely. I felt trapped inside the dark, freezing space in my own mind, and I didn't know how to escape.
I couldn't see a way out.
Elijah stepped in like a sliver of light, forcing its way through the cracks, and he stayed. Never left me, even when I was beyond difficult.
Even when I tried to push him away, the weight of losing my dad and the life I once had kept pulling me back into the darkness.
He never loosened his hold on me.
“I don't know what I would do without you.”
He doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he takes my hand and lays it against his chest, holding it there over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“You’re never going to have to find out.”
The way he says it makes it sound less like reassurance and more like a promise.
I sniff quietly, scrubbing the dampness from my face with the sleeve of my coat. “You must be getting tired of all my crying.”
He lifts my chin slightly, guiding my gaze back to his.
“Never,” he replies without hesitation. “If you're hurting, then I’m hurting too.”
Sometimes I forget how perfect this man can be.
“I’ll just have to make sure to keep a good supply of tissues nearby,” he adds with an easy lift of his shoulder. “Or my sleeve. Whatever works for you.”
