"But what if—" I can barely say it. "What if he realizes I'm not worth the effort? What if he sees who I really am and decides I'm too broken to fix?"
"Then he's an idiot. But I don't think he is." Mom smiles softly. "I think he already sees who you really are. And he's still here."
"He left?—"
"For club business. Not because of you. There's a difference."
I want to believe her.
God, I want to believe her so badly it hurts.
But the voice in my head—the one that sounds like Njal's indifference and Bjorn's hurtful words—keeps whispering that I'm fooling myself.
That this will end like everything else.
That I should run before it's too late.
"I don't know how to do this," I admit. "How to let someone in without breaking."
"You start by being honest. With him. With yourself." Mom stands, pulls me up into a hug. "And you remember that you're my daughter. You're Fenrir's daughter. You come from strength and loyalty, and love. That's in your blood, baby. You just have to trust it."
I hug her back, breathing in her sweet scent.
Letting myself be held.
Letting myself be her little girl for just a moment.
"What if I'm too scared?" I whisper against her shoulder.
"Then you be scared and brave at the same time. That's what courage is."
By the time I leave Mom's office, my eyes are puffy and my head hurts.
But something in my chest feels lighter.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just... less heavy.
The rest of my afternoon appointments pass in a blur of familiar routines—muscle work, small talk with clients, the rhythm of professional distance that I can hide behind.
By five-thirty, I'm exhausted.
Ready to go home, curl up in bed, avoid thinking about Gunnar or last night or the way my mother's words keep echoing in my head.
But I can't.
Because tonight's my turn to make dinner for the club with Magnolia.
It's a rotation thing—the women in the club take turns cooking for everyone, making sure there's food available for members who live at the clubhouse or come by after work.
Usually I enjoy it.
The routine, the productivity, the way cooking lets me focus on something tangible.
Tonight, though, the thought of seeing Gunnar across a crowded room makes my stomach twist.
