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By the time I make it to her, she is sitting on a sheet on the pavilion, her knees tucked under her chin.

“What is this?” I ask cautiously.

But her gaze is focused on the water lapping at the shore, she pats the spot beside her.

“My safe place.”

Slipping off my sandy boots, I maneuver into the space beside her. My instincts scream to get closer to her, and so I wrap an arm around her, tucking her into my side. Forcing our bodies together.

It’s not enough.

There is a primal urge riding me. That wants to seal our connection, but I fight it down.

“Why do you need a safe place?” I clip through my teeth.

She lets out a sad long mewl. “When I was little, my mom wasn’t the best. She would disappear for days at a time, and loneliness would cause me to explore. Well one day I found this spot. And then after she died…I became a pariah. My bad luck was infamous in the foster homes, and so I came out here. It was better to be alone than to feel the anger and distrust of others.”

Her admission spills between us and lands harder than I expect. “My safe place was the recesses of my mind. If I disconnected, I wouldn’t feel his fists. The cigarettes. His belt.” The truth is heady. Heavy. Painful.

I flex my hand out, a memory threatening to take control.

“It was only worse when I fought back. He would drug me, leave me for dead.”

“Your dad, Herb?” she asks gently.

I jolt. “You remember.”

“You saved me that night. From the horrors of your home. From the pain of your own childhood,” she confesses. “I always wanted to find you. To tell you thank you. It’s surreal you’re here right now.”

“Other people matter more than I do. And you’re proof the years of suffering were worth something. I was put there for you.” The confession is sharp on its way out. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I just thought—I thought—”

That she would be better off without me in her life. She was an innocent, and I was a monster.

An admittance of how little my own existence matters.

Even now, she would be better off without me. All I will do is stain her life.

I don’t expect her to wrench out of my embrace. But I should.

I should leave. Let her live her existence without me.

There is no one in my life who has chosen to stay by me.

Only those who are forced to. First my father, and now Reuben. Family members who would be better off without me.

But then she rolls onto me, straddling me, staring directly into my eyes.

She cups my face, her gentle fingers at odds with anyone else who has ever touched me.

“You matter,” she grinds out. “I forgive you for leaving. I just wish you had found me again.”

“I tried. If only to make sure you were okay,” I admit, swallowing thickly. “You were a ghost. Another statistic disappearing into the foster system.”

With Cinnamon, I feel like a human. A person with feelings and wants and needs.

She is a reminder of my humanity.

The only one I have.