“They don’t need you to carry this for them,” he went on. “You can do it together. All of you. And I’m here too.”
He didn’t have to say the rest. I heard it anyway.
You’re not alone this time.
Fear still pressed against my ribs, familiar and stubborn, slow to release its grip.
“Don’t close up on us,” he murmured. “It’s not the same.”
My eyes burned harder, and I tucked myself back into the curve of his neck—half hiding, half holding on.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anytime.”
Night started to settle around us, the plane humming steadily beneath our feet, and we stayed there in that same embrace for a while—my heart slowly finding its rhythm again, Ethan holding me through it.
I used to wonder what it was about him. Why he had this effect on me. Why he made me feel seen and… safe. Of all the people in my life, why him?
I’d asked myself that question for years.
And right then, wrapped in his arms, with everything stripped down to what actually mattered, the answer came to me—soft and simple.
With him, I didn’t have to hold myself together. I didn’t have to be careful, or controlled, or strong. I didn’t need to anticipate the next fracture or brace for impact.
I could justbe.
And somehow, in the middle of everything falling apart, he made the chaos feel fucking beautiful.
The house was quiet.
It was the wrong kind of quiet. The kind where people held their breath in the same space, tense and afraid.
I dropped my bag by the door. People moved through the house—none of them familiar. Some glanced at me as they passed, then quickly looked away. No one said a word.
The living room wasn’t empty. People stood scattered, like they didn’t know where to put themselves. My eyes locked onto the one thing that didn’t belong.
My mom.
I couldn’t see all of her, just her feet, but I knew it was her.
Why is she on the floor?
I hadn’t even finished forming the thought when hands closed around my shoulders and pushed me back. My father’s face filled my vision.
“Sebastian, go upstairs,” he said.
“Is Mom okay?”
Silence.
His face looked wrong too—flushed, eyes too bright.
“Go upstairs,” he said again, firmer this time.
“Mom?” I twisted my head, trying to look past him, but his hands came up to my face, cupping my cheeks and holding me still.
“Your mother’s gone.”
