I had perfected that skill over the years, molding it into something I could readily employ.
And I needed it now, on this very floor.
The world outside my door had fractured, and Lily needed a functioning mother, not a woman wilting on a bedroom floor over a man’s morning-after speech.
I scrubbed my face with both hands, then pressed my palms flat against the floor and pushed myself up.
My legs trembled, but I stood anyway.
I walked to the small mirror above the dresser and confronted my reflection: red eyes, blotchy skin—the face of a woman who had been through too much.
Almost forty.
I’d uttered that number on the rooftop as evidence for the prosecution. But standing here now, I forced myself to see what it truly represented—Lily’s entire childhood. Every double shift. Every time I hadn’t quit when quitting would have been easier.
Every line on my face had been earned. Every single one.
I moved to the small antique sink in the corner and turned on the faucet. Cold water. I splashed it once, twice, three times, until the redness began to recede. My wet hands gripped the basin’s edge, the porcelain cool and solid under my palms, and I stayed like that until my breathing slowed to something manageable.
I straightened, lifting my chin.
Finn had his mission, his walls, his simple, controlled method for navigating the world without letting any of it permanently attach itself to him.
Fine.
I had mine too.
I’d survived worse than this.
I would survive this, too.
Because Lily needed me. Needed me sharp, present, and three steps ahead. The world now held new monsters. But I had lived with monsters before, and I understood something fundamental about them.
They counted on you to stay lost in fear.
I dried my face, checking the mirror one final time.
I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. My eyes were clear, my back straight. Perhaps if Finn looked closely, he’d see the faint impressions my nails had left in my palms. But no one would know that sixty seconds ago I’d been on the floor. The ache was still there, a low thrum beneath my ribs, but it was back where it belonged: on the inside.
* * *
When I walked into the kitchen, Finn stood at the counter with a map spread out in front of him—an actual paper map, the kindgas stations used to sell before GPS became ubiquitous, creased and soft at the folds from what looked like years of use.
The kitchen was his space now; the map spread across the counter like a declaration of territory. I skirted its edge, grabbing a glass from the cupboard with a little too much force. The clink of it on the granite was the only sound. He didn’t look up, but I saw the muscle in his jaw tighten for a half-second.
Good. That’s exactly how this needed to be.
“We need a plan to get to my place,” he said.
I set my glass down.
“Can you elaborate on where exactly yourplaceis?”
My voice was sharper than intended; his finger paused on the map for a fraction of a second.
I let the sharpness stand.
He straightened, crossed his arms, and met my eyes for the first time since I’d come downstairs. I held his gaze long enough to establish my resolve before shifting my attention.
