He raised an eyebrow.
I groaned. “Okay. Maybe not fine.”
A tiny, relieved laugh escaped him. “Yeah, I wasn’t buying it.”
I rubbed my palm over my face. “But none of this, my mood, the weirdness tonight, is you. It’s never been you.”
He tilted his head, waiting.
And suddenly I was tired of holding the whole world inside my chest.
“It’s my family,” I said quietly. “It’s always my family.”
His expression softened, and without a word, he reached out and placed a warm hand between my shoulder blades. Just gentle pressure was steady and grounding. Just what I needed. He always seemed to know just what I needed.
I wiped at my face quickly, not quite crying, but close. “And I know she’s trying, but it feels like she’s trying to fix us. Like we’re broken. LikeAvais broken.”
He slid a little closer, tucking his arm around arm. I sank into the comfort he offered.
“I feel like a bad mom,” I admitted in a cracked whisper. “For bringing Ava into that house. But I didn’t . . . I didn’t have options. I didn’t have the money. I didn’t have support. This was all I could do.”
“You’re not a bad mom.”
“I know,” I said with an exasperated huff. “That’s the messed-up part. I know I’m not. But still, when I talk to her, somehow I always end up feeling like I am. I need to get out of there.”
I swallowed hard. “When my dad died, I was nine. And . . . my mother changed overnight. She went from this warm, laughing person to—” I hesitated, searching for the right word. “—glass. Cold, brittle, sharp. Everything became about appearances. About control. There was no softness left.”
His thumb brushed a slow path back and forth across my spine. I almost melted.
“And my sister . . . ” I let out a humorless laugh. “Stacey became her perfect little disciple. Thin and polished and obedient. I could never be that. I didn’t even want to be that.”
Alex didn’t rush me. Didn’t talk over me. Just listened.
“And when Ethan died,” I continued, voice wavering, “I fell apart. Completely. I was grieving him, grieving the future we’d built, and trying to help Ava survive a world that makes no sense to her sometimes. And I kept getting everything wrong. Her routines went out the window. Her emotions were all over the place. And I was so scared of becoming like my mother. Of making life harder, but it all got harder regardless. I couldn't do it on my own.”
I blinked hard, breath catching. Alex’s hand pressed more firmly, but still so gently.
“I didn’t know how to help her. I didn’t know how to help myself. Plus, every drop of creativity dried up overnight, which meant I wasn’t in the space to write more books, which was my only income left. So when my mom offered for us to move back . . . I felt like I had no choice. But it’s just—” I shook my head. “—every day is a reminder of everything I’m not. Not only that, but I put Ava right into the exact situation I was afraid of recreating. It's all such a mess.”
Silence wrapped around us, but it wasn’t heavy. It was safe.
He shifted closer, just enough that our shoulders touched lightly. “Eleanor,” he said softly, “you’re doing everything you can. You’re raising an incredible kid. And you’re allowed to fall apart. You’re allowed to need help.”
My throat tightened.
His voice dropped even lower, rough with sincerity. “And you don’t have to do any of this alone anymore.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t try to fix anything. Didn’t try to make it neat or small.
He just stayed there with a warm palm on my back. The steady presence at my side.
I let out a shaky breath, staring down at my hands for a moment before forcing myself to look back at him. “I’m so glad I found this community,” I murmured. “The Penguin Project. The rink. The Reapers. All these people who just . . . take us as we are.”
Alex’s expression softened. His thumb paused mid-circle on my back.
“It’s been so good for Ava,” I said, voice thickening. “She’s happier than she’s been in a long time. She belongs in a way I’ve never seen before.”
I swallowed, heat prickling behind my eyes.
