Logan had gone into the office that morning, just briefly, only for a meeting he couldn’t reschedule. He had left reluctantly, checking his phone every ten minutes, stomach tight with guilt, even though Adrian had reassured him that everything would be fine. When he got home around midday, the house was quiet, too quiet, and Jay was already asleep—curled up in his bed, arms tucked in close, the stuffed turtle held tightly to his chest.
His sleep schedule back then had been unpredictable. Some nights he didn’t sleep at all—his body buzzing with something he couldn’t explain, pacing from room to room like he was afraid the floor might vanish under his feet. Other nights, he would crash without warning, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, worn out from the sheer effort of making it through the day.
That afternoon, Logan had peeked into his room, smoothing a hand gently over his messy blond hair, careful not to wake him. Jay hadn’t stirred. So Logan had stepped out, letting him rest.
And then, later that evening—
The screaming started.
Logan had nevermoved so fast in his life. Adrian was right behind him, both of them running toward the sound like instinct had taken over. They reached Jay’s room in seconds, and what they found stopped them cold.
Jay was thrashing in his bed, tangled in the sheets, his tiny body slick with sweat. He was clawing at the blankets, at the mattress, at the air, like he was trapped in something they couldn’t see. His eyes were wide open but wild, not registering the room around him, not seeing them. And the sounds—those screams—were guttural, raw, torn straight from somewhere deep inside him. There was no fear like that in adults. That kind of terror only lived in children.
“Jay!” Logan called out, already stepping forward.
But the second they came too close, Jay lashed out, his fists flying, his heels kicking at the mattress, his back pressed hard against the headboard like he was trying to disappear into it. He sobbed so hard his breath came in hiccups, his voice breaking apart in pieces, not words but noise. Panic made him smaller. Not quieter—smaller.As if he were folding in on himself, trying to vanish.
Adrian raised his hands slowly, carefully, his voice soft, low. “It’s okay. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”
But Jay couldn’t hear that. Not yet.
He wasn’t okay.
He was terrified. Cornered. Lost inside something he didn’t have language for.
“No!” he screamed. “No!” he yelled again as they started to cross the threshold into the room.
And Logan, watching him come apart, had never felt more helpless in his life. No amount of training or love or hope had prepared him for this—theharsh reality of a child who was so afraid of being loved, so traumatized in his brief life, carrying that sorrow and pain within him.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Jay needed. He just knew they couldn’t force their way in.
So they didn’t.
They didn’t leave. They gave him space, but not distance.
They sat just outside his bedroom door, backs to the hallway wall, close enough to be seen but not felt. And for what felt like hours, they waited. Not speaking. Not moving. Just there. A silent declaration in the quiet:we’re not going anywhere.
Inside, Jay screamed until his voice cracked, until the sobs gave way to gasping silence, until the fight in his body drained out like breath leaving a balloon. He thrashed until his limbs gave up, until his shoulders slumped forward and the trembling took over. Until there was nothing left but the aftermath of fear and exhaustion, curled in the chaos of his sheets.
And then he moved.
Not much. Just a shift. A step. But it was careful. Cautious. The way someone walks through a house they don’t believe they’re allowed to be in. He came toward them like a child approaching something dangerous. Like he already knew how this was supposed to end. Like this was the moment they gave up. Like he’d seen it play out a dozen times before, in other rooms, with other people, and now he was just waiting for the pattern to repeat.
Logan couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch. He just opened his arms.
He stayed there, knees pulled in, arms wide, heart open, eyes stinging, chest aching—waiting, offering.
Jay stood still, silent, eyes darting between them. His fists curled at his sides. His lower lip quivered.
And then—he ran.
Straight into Logan’s arms, fast and desperate, afraid the moment might vanish if he hesitated. Logan caught him, crushed him close, wrapped both arms around him and held on as Jay collapsed into him, burying his face against Logan’s chest, his entire body still shaking with the aftershocks of too much grief, too much fear, too mucheverything.
And then Adrian was there too, arms encircling them both, drawing them into one tight, unbreakable hold. Logan pressed his lips into Jay’s hair, Adrian’s hand traced slow circles down his back, and the three of them sat there in the half-darkness, breathing together, tethered not by words but by the undeniable truth of presence.
“They take me away,” Jay whispered, voice raw and almost too soft to hear. “I dream they take me away again.” The words shattered something in the silence.
