My vision tunneled. The room blurred—the glowing fish, the carpets, the distant chatter. All of it collapsed into that one noise echoing inside my head like it was still happening.
Not here. Not now. Not with her.
I can’t breathe.
“Morgan?” Cole’s voice was careful in the way people spoke to skittish animals.
I shook my head, but that only made dizziness hit harder. My knees went loose. Gabbi whimpered, sensing everything I couldn’t hide.
“Hey,” Cole said again, closer now. “Look at me. Not the room. Me.”
I tried, but my gaze kept skittering, searching for exits, threats, places to shield Gabbi. My pulse hammered so hard I felt sick.
Another clatter in the distance—someone dropping toys—and something in me snapped.
“We need—” I choked out. “I need?—”
Cole didn’t ask questions. He slipped Gabbi from my arms—a smooth, practiced motion—and I should’ve panicked more at that, but instead the weight leaving my chest let me gasp for air.
He kept one hand on my forearm, grounding me.
“Come with me,” he murmured, guiding me toward the quiet corner near the wall, half-hidden behind a thick sensory curtain. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Gabbi reached for me from his shoulder, whining, but Cole kept her steady, rubbing her back.
I braced a hand on the wall, the cool surface helping clear some of the fog. My breaths were too fast, too shallow.
“Morgan, breathe with me,” Cole said, lowering his voice even more. “In… and out. You’re here. She’s safe. I’ve got her. Nothing’s happening.”
My eyes stung. Embarrassment? Fear? Relief? All of it.
“Sorry,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry—I just?—”
“Don’t apologize,” Cole said. “Not for this. Not ever.”
He adjusted Gabbi so she could see me. Her face lit up the second she did—small fingers stretching toward me as if I was her whole world, and something inside me unclenched.
Cole offered her. “Want to hold her again?”
I nodded, hands still trembling, and he passed her back with care. The second her weight settled against me, my heartbeat eased—still fast but no longer spiraling out of control. Cole stood close—not crowding, just there. Solid. Warm.
“Thank you,” I said.
His answering smile was enough to ruin me.
“I’m not going anywhere, Morgan.”
We stayed behind the curtain for a minute—maybe longer—until my breathing evened out and the buzzing in my skull eased at last. Gabbi had gone back to being her usual self, tugging on my shirt and babbling as if nothing had happened. I envied her for that.
Cole glanced toward the exit. “There’s a little café upstairs. Quiet. Want a break?”
A break sounded like oxygen. “Yeah. Please.”
He didn’t make a big deal about it, didn’t fuss. Just nodded and walked beside me as we made our way out of the exhibit. The upstairs café was small and tucked away—round tables, warm lighting, the smell of coffee and pretzels drifting through the air. Peaceful. Manageable. We found a table in the corner. I sat with Gabbi in my lap while Cole went to get drinks. My hands still trembled faintly.
He came back with two coffees and a muffin already torn into tiny pieces for Gabbi. “Fuel,” he said, sliding the plate toward me.
I smiled, a little sheepish. “Thanks.”
