“You say that like it reduces your power.”
Rose zipped her medical bag.
“She walked through the intersection twice.”
Dani’s head turned.
“You didn’t need to give the report.”
“She was waiting.”
“I said no report required.”
Rose kept packing.
“She did not ask. I volunteered the minimum.”
Dani’s fingers tapped once against her thigh. The fear beneath her irritation was no longer about the intersection but how I would evaluate the result. I moved closer.
“Do you want me to ask questions?”
She hesitated.
“No.”
“Do you want food?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me here?”
“Yes,” Dani answered immediately.
Rose collected her bag.
“Call me if the panic symptoms return.”
“They won’t.”
“The honest answer?”
Dani looked away.
“I’ll call.”
Rose left. The apartment became quiet. Dani remained near the door. I wanted to cross the space and hold her. I also wanted to respect the choice she had made before leaving: this exposure belonged to her. I waited. She removed her jacket. Then she crossed the room and folded herself into me. Her arms came around my waist. Her face pressed against my shoulder. I held her. No questions.
No congratulations. No declaration that she had won. After several minutes, her breathing slowed.
“I hated it,” she said. “I wanted to run through.”
“I know.”
“Rose made me walk.”
“That was the plan.”
“She made me stop in the middle of the intersection.”
