Then I stopped.
I couldn’t map this room yet. I didn’t know where anything was—the desk, the chairs, the distance between us. One wrong step, one miscalculation, and I would collide with something.
Humiliate myself. Reveal weakness.
So I stood still.
My cane rested lightly against the floor, my grip firm but controlled.
My unseeing gaze remained directed forward, though I had no way of knowing if I faced him or an empty wall.
Silence stretched between us.
I became acutely aware of everything.
He stood.
I heard it clearly—the controlled exhale, the almost imperceptible shift of weight before footsteps followed.
Each one closing the distance between us.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
Tension coiled through my muscles, tight and immediate. My fingers tightened around my cane as my pulse spiked.
His hand reached for mine.
The contact hadn’t even fully registered before my body reacted.
I flinched.
A sharp, instinctive jerk backward, as if burned.
My spine slammed into the edge of the still-open door with a dull, unforgiving impact.
Pain shot through my shoulder blade—quick, bright, and punishing enough to steal the air from my lungs for a second.
I swallowed it down.
“I was only going to guide you to a chair, Miss Loretta.”
His voice was calm.
“Why do you flinch as if I intend to harm you?”
The question landed softly.
But it struck deep.
Because every man hurts me.
Every single one.
The answer rose instinctively, bitter and immediate, clawing its way up my throat.
But I didn’t say it.
I couldn’t.
