And just like that—something breaks open in me.
I launch forward and wrap my arms around him, clutching his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart again. I press my face into his chest, sobs tearing through me—raw, desperate, uncontrollable.
Silent tears fall, one after another, soaking into his shirt. No words. Just the quiet collapse of something too heavy to carry alone.
He holds me without hesitation.
One arm circles around my back, the other sliding up to cradle the back of my head. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ask. He just holds. Firm and warm and unshakable. His hand strokes slow patterns along my spine. His scent grounds me. His heartbeat steadies me.
And just for a moment—it happens.
That impossible thing I wished for five years ago. That dream I whispered into the dark, bruised and broken:
“Maybe when I wake up… he’ll be there.”
He’s here.
Holding me the way I needed. The way I always hoped he would.
And even though everything still hurts—even though the nightmare is still bleeding into my skin—his presence is a salve I didn’t know I could still feel.
I don’t know how long we stay like this.
His arms stay wrapped around me, his body a quiet fortress.
He doesn’t ask me to speak. Doesn’t let go. Just breathes with me.
And then I say it.
Barely more than a breath.
“That night… my flight was delayed, and my phone was dying. I managed to text my dad not to wait, that I’d grab a cab. I was exhausted when we finally landed. All I wanted was to get home. And then… he called my name. Andy. He was a cab driver. I recognized him from one of your sites. Familiar enough to feel safe. I was so tired… I just wanted to get home.”
His body goes still. I feel it in the way his chest stiffens, the way his breath catches.
I shift back slightly, just enough to see his face.
And God—his eyes.
The pain in them. The fury. The guilt.
All tangled together in a single, devastating truth—he wasn’t there.
My hands are shaking, knotted in the hem of my shirt. I look down and force myself to continue.
“Once in the cab, with that little battery left I wanted to let you know I landed. But then, I realized he got off the main road.”
My throat tightens. My gaze floats past Dorian’s shoulder, unfocused.
“He took me in the middle of nowhere” I whisper. “He pulled me out of the car like I was nothing. Threw me on the ground. Said you ruined his life, so he’d ruin yours… hurt what you loved most. Me.”
Dorian’s jaw flexes. His fists curl at his sides. But he doesn’t interrupt.
“I fought; I tried to run but…” My voice trembles now, a thread unraveling. “He… he was stronger, faster.”
Dorian closes his eyes for a moment. Like each word physically wounds him.
My throat closes. I shake my head, and the words come broken, shattered.
