Twice.
His chest was heaving. Each breath a ragged gasp like he’d been running for miles.
“Amai?”
His voice was small.
Broken in a way that shattered me.
“Yeah.” I loosened my grip on his wrists but didn’t let go. “It’s me.”
He looked around the room, taking in the familiar walls. The dresser. The window with the curtains half-open.
Reality slowly filtering back in.
Then his face crumpled.
“Fuck.” The word came out choked. “Fuck—I did it again?—”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” He tried to pull away. Tried to sit up. But his body wasn’t cooperating. Still shaking too hard. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to?—”
“Syx.” I let go of his wrists and sat back. Gave him space. “Breathe.”
He tried.
Failed.
His breath hitched. Caught in his throat.
Then the tears came.
Silent at first. Just wet tracks down his face catching the dim light from the window.
Then his shoulders started shaking.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t try to fix it or tell him to stop.
Just sat there on the edge of his bed and let him break.
Because sometimes that’s all you can do.
Let someone fall apart in front of you and not flinch.
After a long moment, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing sweat and tears across his cheek.
“I just want my mama back.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Simple.
Devastating.
True.
