“Who?”
“My parents.” Lark let the words hang there. “I don’t remember their voices. Or their faces. Just that… when I woke up in that house the morning after their accident, I was alone. And then it was one foster home after another. Nobody stuck.”
Henley’s voice was soft. “Why do you think that is?”
Lark shrugged. “They all wanted babies. Not a five-year-old tomboy with skinned knees and a foul mouth.”
Henley didn’t bite. “You think that’s why?”
Lark hesitated. “They didn’t want a girl who asked questions. Or one who didn’t like dolls. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Too many broken promises to count,” Lark said softly. “First foster family told me they would protect me. Six months later, I was gone. The next one kept their fridge locked. I wasn’t allowed to eat unless it was mealtime. That was fun.”
“And the one after that?”
“The policeman who found me after my parents died helped set me up in another one. He said they were good people. They weren’t bad people, but two things happened.” Lark’s voice tightened. “That cop said he’d always come check on me. That he was going to make sure I was okay.”
Henley’s voice was barely audible. “Did he?”
“No. One day, he just stopped showing up. A few months later, I moved to another foster home, and then at fifteen I went to a group home where I stayed until I aged out of the system.” She'd stopped waiting for him after the first month. Stopped making excuses for him after the second. By the third, she'd figured out that people left. Always. “I learned not to count onpeople. Not to get too comfortable. And honestly, looking back, I’m glad. Those life lessons were hard. But I ended up in the Army because of it, and I took to that life like a fly to shit.”
“That’s an interesting visual for something near and dear to your heart.” Henley leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle. “I’m glad you have a positive attitude about your childhood. That’s good. But it’s also putting a survival mode spin on it, because again, that’s all you know.”
Lark looked at her. “What other choice did I have?”
Henley didn’t flinch. “You could’ve broken. A lot of kids do. You didn’t. That says something.”
“Yeah.” Lark eased back into the rocking chair and did something she never did—she rocked slowly. Back and forth. It wasn’t bad to do a little front porch sitting. “It says I did what I had to do.”
Henley studied her for a long beat. “That’s true. But you never stopped doing that. Not once. Every mission. Every choice. You’ve been surviving. Not trusting. Not healing. Just… enduring. That’s the cycle we need to break.”
“I don’t need healing,” Lark snapped.
“No,” Henley said. “You don’t want it. That’s different.”
Lark fisted her hands at her sides. “You think I’m some lost cause?”
Henley shook her head. “I think you’re exhausted from carrying your whole life on your own shoulders—and carrying others, too. Interesting thing about you, is that you don’t ever want anyone to feel like you. To be alone in this world. It’s why you’re so desperate to know that Specs will be okay.”
Lark chewed on that nugget. The good therapist wasn’t wrong, and Lark wasn’t that big of an asshole that she couldn’t admit she needed her friend to do more than survive this nightmare of a mission. The wind picked up, and the chimes sang a sad, distant song that reminded her of quiet morningsshared with Kawan. With that music, Lark made a crazy decision.
“I trusted Kawan once,” Lark said quietly. “That cost me more than you know.”
“And you don’t trust him now?” Henley asked.
“I trust him with my life,” Lark said.
“And your feelings? The rest of you?”
“I don’t know.” Lark stared out at the trees. “I want to. But every time I let someone in, something breaks.”
Henley leaned closer, resting her hand on Lark’s knee. “Maybe this time, it doesn’t.”
Lark didn’t move.
“You survived. No one’s doubting that. But maybe it’s time to stop surviving and start choosing to actually live—choosing what you want next.”
