Pax should’ve been there as well—maybe proposing to Jessica. We all knew that was how it was supposed to end. My best friend and my twin sister, together forever. I would have been the best man, standing right beside Pax as he married Jessica, beaming so wide that my face would ache from smiling. I’d tell embarrassing stories, and I’d have been so fucking proud. It was supposed to be perfect—the two people I loved most in the world, starting a life together, and me right there, part of every moment. But now, that future was gone. The wedding that never happened. The joy that never came. And I was left holding pieces of a life that should’ve been beautiful, weighed down by everything that was lost.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No. Not today.”
I forced myself upright, breathing deep, grounding myself like Alex had taught me. Five things. Name five things.
The mirror. The towel. The toothbrush. My comb. The faint steam still curling off the shower glass.
Four things I could touch. Three I could hear. Two I could smell. One I could taste.
The sharp, familiar steps calmed me enough to push back the worst of the panic. My heart still hammered, but I wasn’t drowning anymore.
I swallowed hard, running my fingers through my damp hair and staring at my reflection again. My face was pale, drawn. But I was standing.
“I’ll ask Marcus to check the scar,” I said to myself. “That’s all.”
Not a crisis. Not a disaster. It was just something that needed checking out.
I can handle survivor’s guilt. That’s what I told myself, over and over, like some mantra I was desperate to believe. But the truth was messier. Some days, it didn’t feel like guilt—I carried them with me like shadows stitched into my skin. Thegrief, the loss, the unbearable silence where their voices used to be—it wasn’t something you handled. It was something you learned to survive.
Still, as I dressed and pulled on my sweater, the melancholy lingered. And even though I could push it aside for now, I knew the battle wasn’t over, and I wanted to kick myself in the ass for wasting the chance I’d been given.
Downstairs was quieter than I expected. Breakfast wasn’t a full-on thing today—we were meeting here for a big meal this evening—but the place was still running as usual. We were still veterans with trauma; we still needed help; and hell, group counseling was still fixed for eleven o’clock.
None of us got Christmas Day off from our issues.
Alex was behind the small counter, making coffee, and a couple of the other veterans were in the corner at the small table, and the steady hum of their conversation was comforting, but I didn’t know what to do with myself. My skin still prickled under my sweater, my mind still teetering between okay and not okay.
“Coffee?” Alex asked, already sliding a mug toward me.
“Please,” I said, catching it before it could slide too far.
He’d made it how I liked it. Simple. Predictable. It helped steady me.
I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the warmth soak into my palms. Alex gave me a once-over, his gaze focused but kind.
“Is Marcus around?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
Alex nodded toward the stairwell. “He’s up with our new arrivals.”
That made me pause. “He said someone had come in.”
“Yeah, a father and a baby,” Alex said.
I blinked, struggling to process that.
I swallowed. “A baby?” My voice cracked.
Alex nodded again, his voice low. “Yeah. They came in late. It’s complicated. Marcus is with them now.”
A weird mixture of emotions swirled in my chest—concern, curiosity, and this strange pang of something I couldn’t name. A baby, here. What must that even look like? A whole new layer to the quiet chaos we lived with every day.
I hovered at the edge of the room for a bit longer, clutching my coffee as if it was the only thing keepingme upright. The normal hum of conversation from the others should’ve been grounding, but that gnawing unease wouldn’t quite leave.
A baby. Here.
The words kept circling my head. This place had seen a lot—men and women clawing their way out of whatever hell they’d been trapped in. But a baby? It felt… fragile. As if something pure had accidentally slipped through the cracks and landed here, in a place built for people like us—people trying to stitch themselves back together with whatever scraps they had left.
My gaze flicked toward the stairs, where Marcus was still upstairs. I couldn’t help wondering what kind of mess this new guy must be bringing with him. And a part of me—a small, guilty part—felt something twist in my chest.
