My chest tightens. I step closer and gently take the mug from her hands, setting it on the counter. Then I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Because it wasn’t just for a few hours. It was being trapped, being lied to, being broken down by someone who knew exactly where to hit. Don’t shrink it just because it doesn’t leave bruises.”
She doesn’t respond, but her hands come to rest on my arms, holding me there.
“You’re allowed to still be healing,” I murmur. “You don’t have to rush to be okay. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
She nods slowly. I feel her take a breath—deep and real, not the shallow kind she’s been using to survive.
And then she turns in my arms and buries her face in my chest again. No sobbing this time. Just the quiet, exhausted kind of closeness you only crave after holding everything in for too long.
I hold her. I don’t say anything else.
Because she doesn’t need solutions right now.
She just needs to not be alone in the silence.
Chapter forty-six
Ava
It’sbeenalmosttwomonths since the kidnapping.
Two long months of trying to stitch myself back together. And if not for Elijah, Mia, and Sophia—who’ve done nearly the impossible just to keep me standing, I’m not sure where I’d be.
But the truth is, I’m still not okay.
I barely eat. I don’t sleep well. And when I do, I wake up gasping, tangled in sheets soaked with sweat and dread. My dreams drag me back to that cell, to those moments when I didn’t know if I’d live or die. When every second felt like a coin toss between hope and horror.
A part of me believed Elijah would find me. That he’d come. That he’d never stop.
But there was another part—a small, sharp voice that whispered louder than the rest—that maybe no one would.
That maybe everyone would be better off without me.
That voice still haunts me.
And the worst part? It’s winning.
Because even now, I’m not really living. I’m surviving, yes, but barely.
The progress I’d made with Elijah, our laughter, our stolen kisses, the way I started to believe I could be happy again—vanished in hours. Destroyed by fear. By memory. By whathedid to me.
A few days ago, they tried an intervention. Mia cried. Sophia held my hand. Elijah didn’t say much, but his eyes said everything.
And still… I couldn’t speak.
I know I need to. Iwantto. But I’m not ready. Not yet.
Elijah
Frustration and guilt fight for first place in my mind—and honestly, it might end in a tie. Because no matter what anyone says, I’ll never forgive myself for not being there. For not stopping it. For failing her when she needed me most.
It’s been nearly two months since we got her back. Since I carried her out of that hellhole with her body trembling in my arms and her eyes barely able to hold mine. Two months since I swore I’d never let anything happen to her again.
And still, here we are.
Ava’s safe, technically. Physically. But whatever the hell "safe" is supposed to mean now, it doesn't apply to her mind.
