No one did.
I swallowed, the memory tightening around my chest until it hurt. “Yes,” I said quietly. My voice sounded rough even to my own ears.
Blair’s chin trembled. She nodded once, like she understood something she hadn’t a moment ago. “I don’t know if I could do it,” she admitted, but there was no judgment in her voice. No pity. Just honesty. And it made her feel achingly human.
I let the silence between us settle—because this wasn’t something that deserved quick reassurance or someone else’s opinion dressed up as advice.
“There isn’t a right or wrong choice,” I said gently at last. “Sometimes there are just decisions you survive.” I reached for her hand—not to guide her, not to reassure her into anything—just to let her know she wasn’t alone. “You’ll get through this,” I whispered. “Whatever that looks like for you. Not for anyone else.”
Her eyes shimmered, and a single tear slipped free before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then added more quietly, “For coming to check on me.”
She turned toward the door, already pulling herself back together. Then she paused. “Please don’t tell my brother, okay?”
I nodded, forcing in a steady breath. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She looked back then—really looked—like she was checking whether she could trust me or not… then her shoulders eased just a fraction, and she exhaled.
“Thank you,” she said again. It wasn’t loud, but it was honest, and it carried the weight of everything she was holding onto.
I watched her straighten her spine one last time before she opened the door, stepping back into the noise and the questions, and the family waiting on the other side.
Then she was gone.
I sank onto the floor a minute later, the quiet pressing in around me, wondering why I’d shared so much. Why I’d let myself be that open.
And why after so many years, just thinking about him still hurt so damned much.
I should’ve moved on. Should’ve been able to feel something other than this hollow ache blooming in my chest. But Griffin had changed everything about me. His tiny heartbeat had built a kind of armor around my own—one I carried into every room, even the bright ones filled with laughter.
I didn’t talk about him. Ever. Even thinking his name felt like opening a door I wasn’t sure I could close again.
Maybe that was why I’d told Blair.
Because I recognized the look in her eyes. The quiet panic of holding too much inside.
I stayed there longer than I meant to, letting the silence stretch. When my legs finally started to ache, I stood, washed my hands, and checked my reflection in the mirror—smoothing my hair, lifting my chin, putting myself back together piece by piece.
By the time I stepped into the hallway again, voices were already drifting toward me. Laughter. Movement. Life continuing, whether I was ready for it or not.
The dining hall came into view, bright and bustling. Conversations overlapped in a dozen directions at once. It should’ve felt overwhelming.
Instead, it grounded me.
My eyes found Dean without effort.
He stood near the breakfast bar with the same group of men he’d left with earlier, all of them laughing about something I couldn’t hear. But he wasn’t fully with them. His posture was a little too still, his attention tugged in another direction.
And then he glanced up and our eyes locked. Like he’d felt me before he saw me.
The look that crossed his face landed square in the chest. It was protective. Familiar. Almost relieved. Something about it made my breath catch, like my body recognized him before my brain caught up.
For a second, everything else faded. Someone beside him said his name—once, then again—and he didn’t hear it. He was still looking at me like he’d forgotten where he was, like whatever he’d been doing before no longer mattered.
Finally, he blinked, shook himself, and turned to the person talking to him, murmuring something I couldn’t hear.
That was when I remembered to breathe—and to move. I forced my feet forward, weaving between tables until I reached Emma again—exactly where I’d left her.
