“No,” she whispers.
It’s barely a sound.
“No… no, no—”
Her grip on me turns desperate.
“I thought—” her voice cracks completely. “I thought I lost you— I saw you— I saw you bleeding—”
A sound tears out of her—something between a sob and a gasp—and she collapses into my chest.
I catch her instantly.
But it doesn’t stop the impact.
Nothing stops the impact.
Her whole body shakes against mine, sharp and uncontrolled, like she’s been holding this in for too long to survive it anymore.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice rougher than I want it to be. “Hey… I’ve got you.”
She’s shaking too hard.
Her fingers claw into my back like she’s afraid I’ll be taken mid-breath.
“You weren’t there,” she chokes. “You weren’t— I woke up and— I thought it meant you were gone—”
Each word lands heavier than the last.
Like she’s been carrying them alone for too long.
My arms tighten around her.
“I know,” I say quietly. “I know, baby.”
Her head shakes against my chest.
It’s frantic.
Like she’s trying to undo reality.
“I can’t lose you again,” she whispers. “I can’t… I can’t do it again. I can’t—”
Her voice breaks so completely the sound disappears.
Just breath and shaking and grief spilling out of her like something she couldn’t hold back any longer.
I press my forehead to hers.
“You’re not going to,” I say, low and certain. “I’m right here.”
Her breathing is uneven—ragged, broken little pulls of air like she doesn’t know how to stop drowning yet.
Her fingers slide shakily to my wedding band.
She turns it once.
Then again.
