That stopped me. “I don’t understand.”
“What kind of working day could you manage, with childcare, without it costing you everything?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. No one had ever asked me that. Not in the army. Not after. It had always been about endurance. About pushing through.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“That’s okay,” she said. “There are supports for this stage. Trauma-informed employment schemes. Gradual return-to-work programs. Training courses designed around capacity, not performance. College bursaries. Schemes that bundle educationwith supported housing, childcare options, and stipends that don’t vanish. There are ways back into learning that don’t assume you have a safety net waiting at home. You don’t have to jump back into the world at full speed.”
“What if I want to fix everything, but I can’t?” The words spilled out before I could organize them. “We can’t stay here forever. We have to go somewhere eventually. And Gabbi’s grandparents are offering an apartment, money, all this help—and I’m here, taking what Guardian Hall is giving me, taking space, taking time.” I dragged in a breath. “I’m letting everything be handed to me and not giving anything back, and it’s selfish. Like I’m cheating somehow, and I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”
She sat back in her chair and gave me a soft smile. “Guardian Hall is a bridge, Morgan. No one lives on a bridge forever—but you also don’t run across it with your eyes closed. You needed time to establish a base, a quiet place where the rest of your life will grow. It’s not selfish to be here.”
“I want to believe that.”
“I know.”
I stared at my hands. “Can I ask you a question that isn’t related to… y’know… something personal, I mean?”
“You can ask anything,” she said.
“I want to be the best dad for Gabbi.” I made myself sit up straighter and hold on to the words instead of letting them sink me. “I think—I know—I’m a good dad. When she cries, she knows I’ll fix it. Or at least try. And when she’s sleeping, I just… watch her. I think about everything I want to give her. Safety.” I paused, steadying myself. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of. Out of everything.”
I stopped, breath uneven, as I’d said too much and not nearly enough. That was supposed to lead up to me asking about relationships, but it had fizzled out, and Elena called me on it.
“That’s not really a question, Morgan,” she said gently. “It’s a statement. About the person you already are—and who you’re determined to be as her father.”
“The question…” I can do this. How hard can this be? “It’s about Cole.” We’d spoken about him in these sessions before; she knew we were together, but she didn’t know the awful thoughts that spiraled in my head.
“Go on.”
“He takes me and Gabbi out—on dates—really thoughtful ones, like a new park that she’d love to swing in, or yesterday he actually got on a slide and had her on his lap, and he got caught halfway down and I couldn’t stop laughing, and Gabbi was so happy, and he promises her things, like he’ll be there for when she starts dating, but she’s not allowed to do that until she’s thirty.” I huffed a laugh. “That’s such a dad thing to say.”
“It is.”
“And I’m not here to ask about whether his acting like that is a good thing, okay? It’s better than just good. Gabbi needs all the people in her life that she can. Safety. Someone who I know would look out for her if I weren’t here. She has her grandparents, and now Cole.”
Again, I stopped, and Elena gestured between us. “That’s still not a question.”
Fuck this. Just say it. “What if he just wants her—a ready-made family—because he says he’s falling formeand he says he wants to take care ofusand he does all the right things and shows up and means it, but somehow it never becomes just me and him, and yeah I know I’m a little broken and I come with baggage and fears, but I’m still worth being someone’s focus too, aren’t I?” I took a moment to catch my breath after that outburst.
Elena took a moment before answering, and in that silence I realized my face was wet. I swiped at my cheek, annoyed with myself when my fingers came away damp. I hated crying—hatedhow exposed it made me feel, how it stripped away the control I worked so hard to keep. God, I was a mess. No wonder Cole was holding back, careful with his hands and his words, as if he was afraid of touching something already cracked.
“Okay, Morgan. Here’s what you need to do.”
When I left the session, the place was quiet in that late-afternoon way, sunlight slanting through the windows, dust motes drifting as though they had nowhere else to be. I collected Gabbi from Marcus, who had her in the medical room while he audited supplies. She’d been good, he said, but my head was full of too much of everything, so with a nod and a thank you, I took her and headed into the kitchen for her bottle.
Cole was in there—of course he was. He always seemed to appear when I least felt ready to be seen—sleeves rolled up, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand. He glanced up when I entered the room, and his expression was happy as he made grabby hands for Gabbi.
See? He doesn’t want me. He just wants to see Gabbi.
I bypassed him and went straight to the sterilizer, and he didn’t ask why; he just circled us from behind and pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.
“How was it?” he asked.
I wriggled out of his hold and stepped away, focused on getting the bottle ready and ignoring his presence. A couple of the others came in, and I recognized Alex’s laughter as Marcus chatted about the play equipment that had arrived as soon as the snow thawed, courtesy of Cole, of course. Cole joined in, and I was stuck, listening to people who had their act together, people who had a purpose in life, and there was I, and I was…
… lost.
