“My father was a violent man.” The words come out flat. “And no, it was not occasionally or just when he drank too much. It was … always. He had this rage inside him that nothing could touch.”
Bailey doesn’t speak, but I feel her shift slightly closer.
“My mother tried to leave him three times that I know of. Twice, she came back because he convinced her he’d change. The third time…” I swallow hard. “The third time, I was thirteen. She had packed our bags, waited until he went to work, and we were going to leave and disappear.”
“What happened?”
“He came home early.” The memory of opening the door to that familiar scowl on that very day makes me shudder. “He found the bags and the note she’d left. He went… quiet. That was worse than the yelling. When my father went quiet, you knew something terrible was coming.”
I can still see the stillness in Dad’s eyes as he slowly moved through the house.
“He told me to go to my room and locked the door from the outside.” My hands are shaking now. “I heard them arguing, then furniture breaking and … and then Mom screaming. And I just… sat there. Frozen. Too scared to move.”
“Daniel.” Bailey’s hand finds mine; somehow, it calms me down.
“I smelled smoke an hour later. He’d started a fire in the kitchen, whether on purpose or by accident, I’ll never know. By the time I broke through my window and got outside, the whole downstairs was engulfed.”
The memory is visceral. I can still feel the smoke burning my lungs, heat searing my skin, and the sound of sirens in the distance, always too far away.
“I just … ran. I ran for my dear life. The neighbors called the fire services and managed to bring me back, but ... well, my … my parents didn’t make it.” I force myself to look at Bailey. “Everyone said it wasn’t my fault that I was just a kid. That there was nothing I could have done.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“I left her.” My voice breaks on the word. “I broke through that window and I ran, and I left her in there with him.”
“You survived.” Bailey’s grip on my hand tightens. “That’s what she would have wanted.”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t recognize what I became. I wasn’t always this … this cold monster who keeps everyone at arm’s length.”
“You mean the man who protects everyone else because he couldn’t protect her?”
I stare at Bailey, speechless.
“That’s what I see when I look at you,” she continues softly. “Someone who has spent twenty years trying to make sure no one else gets hurt the way his Mom did. When I look at you, Daniel, I see someone who thinks if he keeps enough distance, he can prevent that kind of loss from ever happening again.”
My throat is tight. “That’s… remarkably insightful.”
“Or I just pay attention.” She moves closer, completely covering the space between us. “You’re not damaged, Daniel. You’re just someone who forgot how to stop surviving.”
“How do you do that?” I ask roughly.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like I’m not broken.” My hand comes up, cupping her face.
“Because you’re not a mess.” She leans into my touch. “You’re human. And being human means carrying scars. It doesn’t make you broken. Not one bit.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “I don’t know how to let someone in without being terrified they’ll disappear.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.” She takes my other hand, holding both now. “I’m not going anywhere, Daniel.”
The promise undoes me completely.
“You shouldn’t,” I whisper. “I’ll hurt you eventually. Everyone I get close to—”
“Stop.” She moves closer still, our knees touching. “Stop predicting the ending before we’ve even begun. Stop punishing yourself for surviving. Stop being so scared of losing me that you push me away first.”
“What if I can’t?”
