The weight of my heels suddenly feel unbearable. I set them down by her bed, the clunk against the floor oddly final, before crawling into the space beside her. She opens her arms without hesitation, and I fold into them like I'm still small enough to believe a mother's hug can fix anything.

The familiar scent of her cardigan—vanilla and sandalwood, the perfume she's worn since before I can remember—wraps around me like a security blanket. It's amazing how some things never change. How the smallest of things can make the biggest impact when it feels like the world is burning around you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her fingers weave through my hair, each stroke untangling more than just the physical knots.

I shake my head against her shoulder.

"Are you and Nate okay?"

The nod comes automatically.

"What's on your mind?"

"How do you do it?" The question slips out before I can catch it, small and uncertain.

Her hand stills. "How do I do what?"

"Everything." The word feels inadequate. "How do you hold everyone else together without falling apart yourself?"

She presses a kiss to my crown, and I feel her smile. "You mean, where do I find the strength to keep going?"

When I nod, she's quiet for a moment, thoughtful in that way that always preceded her best advice. "Do you remember A Wrinkle in Time?"

"Of course." The memory rises like warmth in my chest. "It's one of my favorites."

"Why is it one of your favorites?"

"Because Dad…" My voice catches. "Because Dad used to read it to me every night. He loved it too."

Her smile reaches her eyes now, soft with memory. "Did you know your grandmother used to read it to him when he was little?"

The revelation hits me like a gentle wave, washing away some of the night's heaviness. This simple thread of story and love, weaving through generations of our family, feels like a gift I never knew I had.

She continues, her voice taking on that storyteller quality I remember from childhood. "Remember when Charles Wallace was possessed by IT? What did Meg have that IT didn't?"

"Love," I whisper.

"That's right. Love saved him—fierce, unconditional love. That's what restores order in chaos." Her arms tighten around me. "Your father's love, my love for you and Ollie, it's what keeps me going. When I look at you both, I see him. He lives in the way you twist your lips when you're thinking, in how Ollie laughs with his whole body. Love doesn't end, it transforms."

The tears come without warning, hot and urgent. She holds me closer, and I let myself break a little, knowing she'll help me put myself back together.