Her hand, soft and warm, cradles my face. She leans in, her eyes never leaving mine, her fingers curling gently against my skin. It's like she's holding all the broken pieces of me together, silently promising she won't let me fall apart.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispers, her voice steady, unshaken by the storm raging inside me. "And if you're unsure about trusting me, well, too bad. Because I'm not going anywhere until I prove to you, you can trust me."

In an instant everything cracks wide open.

Her words are a lifeline thrown into the chaos. I've spent years wading through the wreckage of my life, convinced that no one could ever stick around long enough to help me sift through the ashes. But she's here. She's not afraid. And somehow, that makes all the difference. Because no matter how much everything else falls apart, she's always been my constant—even when I hadn't shown up for her.

"You're one of the few things I'm sure of," I manage to say, my voice rough with emotion.

It's the truth, and it burns to admit it. She's the only person who sees me for who I am—really sees me—and doesn't walk the other way. She knows about the scars, both the ones on my skin and the ones buried deeper, the ones that twist like barbed wire around my heart. She knows about my parents, about my failures, and somehow, she still looks at me like I'm worthy of something I can't see in myself.

I swallow hard.

"The nightmares have gotten worse over time." My voice drops low. "Sometimes I can't tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. What I dreamt happened and what actually did. The drugs helped numb and silence everything for short amounts of time."

The memories crash over me like waves, threatening to pull me under. Scott's voice, slurred and angry. My mom's crying, the kind that never really stopped. The promises he made—empty, worthless. I shut my eyes, trying to keep it all contained.

"Mom... she cried all the time. Scott blamed everyone and everything but himself—his job, the world. Never took any responsibility when things were turning to shit. Instead, he'd just lay into mom or me if I stood in his way."

I look up at her, but she doesn't flinch. She just holds the space for me to unravel.

"The older I got, it kept escalating." My voice trembles, and I hate it. "He started drinking more. Taking more pills and fuck knows what else. And every night when he'd come home from another cocaine bender, the blows got harder. It was like the more I grew, the angrier he got. He hated me for even existing."

Nora reaches out, her hand brushing against mine, and I almost flinch. Almost. But her touch is soft, grounding me in the present.

"Nate," she says softly, my name a prayer on her lips.