“He said I remind him too much of my mom,” I continued, the words scraping on the way out. “That he only ever pretended to love me because she did. And now that she’s gone… there’s nothing left.”
My ribs pulled tight, breath going shallow. Anthony’s hand slid from my chest to my jaw, gentle fingers guiding my face up until I was looking at him.
“Turn around,” he said softly. Not an order. An invitation.
I shifted carefully, water sloshing as he helped maneuver me until I was straddling his legs, knees braced on either side of his hips. His hands stayed with me the whole time—steady, respectful—one settling at my lower back, the other cupping the nape of my neck.
Being face-to-face made it harder to hide. “He said I’m weak,” I whispered. “That falling for you proves it.”
Anthony’s eyes didn’t flinch. If anything, they softened—dark with something fierce and protective. “That’s not the true,” he said quietly. “That’s his grief curdled into cruelty.”
I shook my head, a bitter, broken motion. “He said he wishes it had been me when I jumped.” The words landed flat, stripped of tone by sheer exhaustion. “He said he wishes I’d died instead of her.”
Something inside me collapsed. My breath stuttered, then broke entirely as a sob tore out of me. Raw and uncontrolled. My hands fisted in his shoulders like I might fall apart if I didn’t hold on.
Anthony reacted instantly, pulling me closer until my forehead pressed into his, noses brushing. His hands splayed wide across my back, firm and grounding.
“No,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “No. That is not something you get to put inside yourself.”
I cried hard then—open, shaking sobs that came from a place long before language. Anthony stayed with me through all of it, breathing slow and deep, letting my body borrow his rhythm until mine remembered how to function.
When the sobs finally ebbed into ragged breaths, he rested his forehead against mine.
“When he said that,” Anthony asked gently, “what did it make you feel in your body?”
I closed my eyes. “Small,” I admitted. “Like I was a child again. Like I didn’t deserve to take up space. Like if I just disappeared, everyone would finally be able to breathe.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened for a moment before easing. “That’s an old wound talking,” he said. “One he helped carve. Not a reflection of who you are.”
I let out a weak, hollow laugh. “Feels pretty real.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why it hurts.”
He brushed his thumb along my spine, slow and grounding, until the tension in my shoulders eased a fraction.
“Can I suggest something?” he asked.
I nodded against his forehead.
“I think this might be a good time to call Nora,” he said carefully. “Not because you’re failing. Not because you’re too much. But because what he said tore open scars that were never allowed to heal.”
The idea made my chest tighten—not panic this time, but grief.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whispered.
Anthony pulled back just enough to look at me fully. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly. “You were neglected. There’s a difference.”
Something inside me settled, fragile but real. “Okay,” I whispered. “Tomorrow.”
He nodded. “We’ll do it together if you want.”
I leaned into him again, our foreheads touching, water cooling slowly around us. The storm hadn’t vanished. But it had stopped swallowing me whole. And I was still here. Still held.
CHAPTER 24
ANTHONY
The water had gone lukewarm by the time I reached for the drain. I noticed because Elliot hadn’t.
