I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands, my mind looping uselessly around the same thought, over and over, because I don’t know what comes after this, and that uncertainty feels almost as frightening as the past I’ve just escaped.
Axel sits beside me first, close enough that our shoulders touch, and Atticus joins us on my other side a moment later, and neither of them speaks as they ease me back onto the bed between them. They lie down with me instead of towering over me, instead of trying to fix anything, and that choice alone loosens something tight in my chest.
Axel’s arm wraps around me carefully, not possessive, just present, and Atticus’s hand settles against my back, warm and steady, and I realise I’m breathing easier than I have in days. The ceiling above us is familia
