"I'm truly sorry I've caused you pain. And I tried to stay away from your daughter. I really did. But I fell in love with her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't walk away," I admit.
"You should have," she says.
Her statement lands like grief, flat, exhausted, and edged with something that might be resignation or fury. I can't tell which, and that uncertainty sets my teeth on edge more than anger ever could.
I answer honestly. "Maybe."
Skylar's head snaps up. For a moment, we stare at each other across my desk, the hourglass between us quietly emptying itself grain by grain, an absurd metronome for a conversation that feels too big for any room.
"Then why didn't you?" she asks.
I take my time finding the right answer. Skylar's a mother trying to decide whether the man in front of her is a threat or a lifeline, and I won't insult her by pretending there's a clean answer. So I finally state, "Because walking away wouldn't have protected her. It would have confirmed every fear she already had about being too much. And about being unlovable when things get hard."
"Blue's not unlovable."
"You and I both agree on that."
Her lips press together. A fresh round of anger appears. "You don't get to decide what protects my daughter."
I disagree. "I get to help her decide what harms her when I see the craving popping up."
Her face pales further. She snaps, "What does that mean?"
"It means some people need to physically feel things, and it's hard for others to understand. So I steer her away from sharp objects and things that leave permanent marks," I relay.
That earns me a sharp look. "And you don't think this situation is harmful?"
"I think fear-driven reactions are harmful. So are ultimatums, as well as tearing down the place a person feels safe."
Skylar exhales, shaky. She looks older in this moment, her facial lines deeper, and her posture heavier. She glances at the hourglass, reaches for it, and flips it. Then she softly claims, "She told me you're the only one who helps her."
My chest tightens. "She shouldn't have to feel that way."
"But she does," Skylar snaps, pain flaring. "And that scares the hell out of me."
I admit. "It scares me too. That's why I've been careful and insisted on other supports. It's why Demi is with her today."
Skylar's eyes widen. "Demi?"
"Yes. She's her closest friend and trusts her. And Demi knows how to distract Blue and when to sit quietly. But it's another support in Blue's life that isn't me."
Skylar studies my face, as if searching for cracks. Then she deadpans, "You're very controlled."
"I have to be."
"For her? Or for you?"
The question is sharp, but fair. So I confess, "For both. If I lose control, everyone loses."
Her gaze drops back to the hourglass. She murmurs, "You keep time for her."
"Yes."
"Does she know that?" Skylar asks quietly.
I hesitate. "She knows I stay."
Skylar leans back in her chair, eyes closing for a long second. When she opens them, they're glossy but resolute. "My husband wants this ended. Immediately."
