Page 19 of Brick’s Anchor

I finish the sandwich because Grace is watching me like a tiny drill sergeant and I can't disappoint a five-year-old who thinks I'm doing well.

The food sits heavy in my stomach. Not bad. Just unfamiliar. Brick was right about that, about my stomach not being used to food anymore. I hate that he was right. Hate that he noticed. Hate that he sees things about me I don't want anyone to see.

Grace signs something else, her little hands moving enthusiastically.

Judge translates from across the room where he's standing with Nora. "She wants to know if you like grilled cheese because that's her favorite and she thinks you'd like it too."

"I like it," I tell Grace, signing it as best I can with the limited vocabulary she's taught. My hands are clumsy compared to hers, the shapes imprecise, but she nods encouragingly anyway.

She signs back, pointing at Judge.

"She says her daddy makes the best grilled cheese in the world, and he'll make you one tomorrow if you want," Judge supplies, and there's something soft in his voice when he talks about her.

"I'd like that," I say.

Grace beams and throws her arms around me in an unexpected hug.

I freeze.

Can't help it. Can't stop the way my entire body goes rigid at the sudden contact, at the arms around my waist, at the proximity of another human touching me without asking first. My heart rate spikes. My breathing goes shallow. Every muscle tenses for fight or flight.

Grace feels it immediately. She pulls back, her small face concerned, signing something that looks like an apology.

"It's okay," I manage, even though my voice shakes. "You didn't… You're fine. I just—"

I can't finish the sentence. Can't explain that touch feels wrong now, that my body doesn't know how to accept comfort, that even a child's innocent hug sends me spiraling.

Brick shifts in his chair. Not standing. Not moving closer. Just shifting his weight slightly, drawing my attention without demanding it.

"Grace," he signs and speaks simultaneously. "Rosie's still learning what feels safe. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes people need space before they're ready for hugs."

Grace nods solemnly, signs something back.

"She says she understands and she's sorry and she'll ask first next time," Judge translates.

"Thank you," I whisper to Grace. Then to Brick, quieter, "Thank you."

He just nods. Like it's nothing. Like helping me navigate a panic response to a child's hug is just part of his evening routine.

Nora approaches with a gentleness that suggests she's been through her own version of this. "Grace, baby, it's past your bedtime. Say goodnight."

Grace signs goodnight to everyone in the room, each person individually, making sure they see her. When she gets to me, she signs something extra.

"Sweet dreams," Judge translates. "And she'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Grace," I say.

Grace grins and takes Nora's hand. They head upstairs, Judge following. The three of them moving together like a unit. Like a family.

I watch them go and something in my chest aches. Not jealousy exactly. Just awareness. Of what I don't have. Of what I might never have. Of how damaged I am now compared to the person I was two weeks ago.

The common room feels bigger with Grace gone. The other women are scattered around. Some eating, some talking quietly with Eden, some just sitting in silence. The blonde girl who cried earlier is asleep on the couch, wrapped in blankets. Another girl is staring at the TV even though it's not on. Processing. Surviving.

We're all just surviving.

Brick stands. "You should sleep."

"I'm not tired." It's a lie. I'm exhausted. But sleep means vulnerability. Means closing my eyes. Means trusting that I'll wake up somewhere safe instead of back in that room.