Finally, he admitted, “I’m having trouble sleeping.”
Sam didn’t react with surprise. Just nodded once, hands resting loosely on his thighs. “What can you tell me about that?”
Danny shrugged, then winced at himself. It felt like a cop-out. He wasn’t here to play deflection games. “I don’t think I’ve had a full night in… two years? Maybe more.” He exhaled, like the truth had to be coaxed out one lungful at a time. “I fall asleep okay, most nights. But then I wake up. Not just once. Sometimes three, four times. My body just reacts to every small sound. Like it’s on call.”
His fingers curled into the edge of the cushion, nails digging into the fabric. “At first, I thought it would stop after Wilbert passed. That I’d stop listening for him. But I still do. Every time I wake up, it’s like my brain forgets he’s not there anymore and I’m half out of bed in a wink, and then I remember he’s gone. It’s like a bad song on repeat.”
“That must be exhausting.”
“It is.” Danny laughed, but even to his own ears it sounded bitter. “I used to think exhaustion was when I’d been bratting all evening to get out of my chores and still had to do dishes. Now it’s just… feeling like a hollow shell in a too big bed.”
He glanced toward the shelves of toys and coloring books, bright and cheerful and completely foreign to the gray static inside his head. “It’s not just the sleep,” he said, voice low. “Eating’s a mess too. Not like I don’t eat—I do. Too much sometimes. But it’s all crap. Candy. Chips. Whatever’s easy. I haven’t cooked a real meal in… I don’t even know. It’s like I’m chasing sugar highs to stay upright.”
His gaze dropped, unbidden, to Sam’s hands where they rested on his thighs. Danny’s fingers flexed against the arm of the couch, suddenly aware of how tightly he was holding on. He wasn’t even sure what for.
“I think,” he continued slowly, “I need someone who’ll hold me accountable. Not just tell me to do better, but actually… notice when I don’t.”
Sam nodded, his expression thoughtful but neutral. “That makes sense. Sometimes we need structure more than we need willpower. Grief drains the part of us that remembers how to care for ourselves.”
Danny swallowed hard and forced his eyes back to the bookshelf, not wanting to read too much into the silence that followed. Sam hadn’t reacted to his staring. Hadn’t shifted or called attention to it.
“I used to love food,” Danny whispered. “Wilbert could cook, like really cook. He’d make the most ridiculous kid meals—dinosaurs made of pancakes, or homemade chicken nuggets from the air fryer. Called them ‘brain fuel for good boys’. I thought I’d never get sick of that kind of love.” His chest tightened. “But near the end, I was the one feeding him. One bite at a time. Like I was the grown-up. Like he wasn’t him anymore. And now when I try to eat something healthy, it just… tastes like sorrow.”
He glanced up, expecting pity. But Sam didn’t flinch. Didn’t crowd him with sympathy. Just held the moment open.
Danny swallowed. “I don’t really know who I am now.”
There. That was the heart of it.
He kept going, voice quieter. “I used to be Little. A happy Little. I wore footie pajamas and made pillow forts and watched cartoons with Daddy. I haven’t been able to touch any of that since he died. I can’t even pretend. It’s like… I lost the map back to that part of me.”
His throat burned. He threw his hands up and covered his face.
“I want it back.” He spoke into his palms. “I think. But it also scares the hell out of me. What if I open that door and it’s just empty inside?”
Sam leaned forward, rose from the chair and moved to a nearby shelf, pulling down a small tray with an assortment of colored stones.
“This isn’t mandatory,” he explained, placing the tray on the low table between them. “But sometimes it helps to let your hands say what your mouth can’t.”
Danny stared at the tray. It held a collection of smooth stones in soft shades of blue, green, gray, cream.
Sam held one up, a polished pale pink one. “This is rose quartz. Some people use it to represent love, comfort, safety. You can pick one, if you want. Or not. No pressure.”
Danny leaned forward, hovered his hand over the tray, and chose a deep blue stone. He turned the stone over in his hand. The deep blue seemed to shimmer faintly under the office lights, golden veins catching like threads of fire through water.
“It’s pretty,” he murmured. “Feels… solid.”
Sam nodded. “That’s lapis lazuli. Ancient stone. It’s been associated with truth, protection, and clarity for centuries. Some people say it helps quiet the noise. The internal as well as the external. Opens the door to deeper self-awareness.”
Danny snorted softly. “Little rock’s got a hell of a résumé.”
“It doesn’t do the work for you.” Sam smiled and leaned back in his chair. He steepled his hands under his chin. “But sometimes, having something in your hand—something you chose—can help remind you that you’re still grounded. Still real. Still here.”
Danny traced his thumb over the smooth surface, the weight of it oddly comforting in his palm. Like it had been waiting for him. Like it knew something he didn’t. “I like it.”
Sam tilted his head. “Then keep it.”
That simple?
