She tilts her face up to look at me. “How do you know?”
Because I’ve lived some version of it myself.
Because men like me don’t come home from what we’ve seen and just switch it off.
Because I know exactly what it is to sit in a room that’s safe while your body acts like it isn’t.
But I don’t give her all of that.
Not yet.
“Because I know what it’s like when your mind keeps living somewhere your body already escaped.”
Her gaze stays on mine.
Soft. Searching.
And something shifts between us again.
Not heat this time.
Not at first.
Something deeper.
Recognition.
Understanding.
She lifts a hand and rests it lightly against my chest. Right over my heart.
“You do that too,” she says quietly.
It isn’t a question.
I could lie.
Say no.
Say I’m fine.
Say whatever version of strong I’ve been giving the world for years.
But this woman has already looked straight through me more than once.
So I tell her the truth.
“Yeah.”
The word is rougher than I intended.
Her hand stays where it is.
Warm.
Steady.
“What happens?” she asks.
