She leans forward slightly. “Tell me more.”
“He’s patient,” I say quietly. “Unrecognisable, actually. He asks before he touches me. Every time. Even for small things. A hand on my back. Holding my hand. Sometimes I say no.” I swallow. “And he’s okay with that.”
Her expression softens. “And sometimes?”
“Sometimes, I say yes.” My voice drops. “And lately, I’ve been the one initiating.”
I glance down at my hands, suddenly self-conscious. “Nothing sexual. Not really. Just closeness. Touch. Sitting near him. Letting him hold me.”
“And how does that feel?”
I think about it. “It feels safe,” I say. “Which is strange, because I didn’t think I’d ever associate safety with him again.” My throat tightens. “I don’t feel pressured or rushed. And when I stop, he stops.” I pause. “I guess what I’m asking,” I continue, “is whether it’s normal to want more when I’m still . . . well, whenthe attack is so recent and when I still sometimes feel angry at Kade.”
Anna smiles gently. “Eden, healing isn’t linear. Some women jump right back into a relationship, some go weeks, months, even years. There’s no set time. It’s when you feel ready. When your body tells you you’re ready. Trust and forgiveness aren’t the same thing. You can feel ready for closeness without being ready to erase what happened.”
Her words reassure me. “So, I’m not weird or betraying myself?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You’re listening to your body. That’s a sign of healing.”
I blink rapidly, emotion catching me off-guard.
“I still get scared,” I admit. “Sometimes when he looks at me, I worry he expects more. And then I remember he doesn’t. He never assumes.”
“That’s important,” she says. “What you’re describing is reclaiming control. You’re choosing intimacy on your terms.”
I nod slowly.
“I think I’m ready to take another step,” I whisper. “I want to.”
She meets my eyes. “As long as you continue to feel safe, heard, and in control, there’s no timeline you need to follow but your own.”
I exhale slowly, realising how nervous I actually was at admitting it out loud.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
She smiles. “You’re doing really well, Eden.”
As I stand to leave, I place a hand over my stomach, feeling a familiar flutter beneath my palm, almost like our child agrees with me.
“Are yousureyou don’t mind?” Martha asks for what has to be the tenth time.
I groan dramatically, grabbing her shoulders and steering her towards the door. “An entire weekend of me-time? Please. I might actually be able to chill in peace.”
“And youswearto keep the baby in until I get back?” she asks, dead serious.
I laugh, tugging the front door open . . . and I freeze.
Kade stands on the step with his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, his hair curling slightly at the ends from the slow drizzle pouring from the sky. His smile falters the second he clocks Martha.
She looks between us, then her gaze drops to the bag.
Slowly, a grin spreads across her face.
“Oh mygod,” she breathes. “No wonder you were so keen to get rid of me.”
My cheeks burn instantly. “It’s not—”
“And you weren’t even going to tell me,” she adds, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. Betrayed in my own home.”
