I opened my mouth, ready to push back—
“Don’t,” he cut in, just as quietly. “He’s already anxious, and you’re not helping.”
I glanced past him.
Elior was still standing with Elena, nodding as she spoke, but his shoulders were tense, his fingers twisting together at his waist. He was listening, but part of him was already pulling inward.
Patel followed my gaze. “This appointment is stressful enough already. He doesn’t need you throwing a tantrum.”
I inhaled harshly through my nose, willing myself not to punch his stupid face. As calmly as I could, I said, “I’m not two. But you’re right, he doesn’t need any additional stress.”
We stood there in brittle silence for a moment.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement at the reception desk. The woman seated there had very obviously been watching us—her eyes flicking between faces, posture alert. The second she noticed me looking, she bent over herkeyboard with exaggerated focus, typing as if her life depended on it.
I rolled my eyes.
“Elior?” I called, his head jerking toward me. “Can you come talk with me for a second?”
He hesitated only a beat before excusing himself from Elena with a polite, “One second,” and coming over to me. I guided him a few steps down the hall, far enough that Patel and Elena couldn’t hear us without it being obvious they were trying.
I crouched slightly so we were eye level. The waiting room lights were too bright; they made the faint shadows under his eyes stand out.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Remember what I told you?”
“Mhm.”
Before we’d left the house, I’d gone over it with him while he’d sat on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap like he was about to be graded. I hadn’t liked the way his eyes kept searching my face for the “right” answers.
He was terrified of saying something wrong, scared of them taking him away from me and back to the hospital.
“They’re going to ask you about your home life,” I murmured. “That’s normal. You can say you feel safe. You can say you’re being supported. Both of those things are true.”
He nodded slowly.
“But,” I continued, thumb brushing over his knuckles, grounding him, “you don’t need to talk about our relationship dynamics. Not the names you call me. Not how we take care of each other. If they ask something that makes you uncomfortable, you can say that.”
He bit his bottom lip nervously, but nodded again.
“And if you get overwhelmed,” I added, “you can pause. You canask for a break.” I leaned in just a little further, pressing a light kiss on his temple before continuing. “You’re allowed to say ‘I don’t know’,” I reminded him. “And you’re allowed to say ‘I don’t want to talk about that yet.’ Got it?”
“You’ll be here when I’m done?”
“Of course, cherub. Right where you left me,” I promised.
“I wish you could come in with me,” he mumbled, dropping his head against my chest.
“I know, baby, and I’m sorry that I can’t. But it’ll be okay, and I’ll be right out here if you need me. Everything will be fine.”
“Okay.”
I squeezed his hand, then let go first, even though every instinct in me wanted to keep him close. “You’ve got this.”
A small, shy smile tugged at his mouth. He turned back toward the waiting room, posture straighter than before—still nervous, but feeling just a tiny bit braver.
Just then, a door opened, and out walked an older man. His hair was a mix of salt and pepper, his beard thick and full. He was dressed in a light blue sweater vest and loafers.
One hand stayed on the brass doorknob as he regarded the small group of people in his waiting room. His gaze ticked through each one of us before landing on my boy.
