The soft light from the lamp floods the room as Hannah curls up on the corner of the couch where she must’ve been sitting before she opened the door. A blanket has been tossed aside on one side of the cushions, and Ralph is sitting beside her. She looks small and fragile in a way that I’ve never seen before. I swallow hard, a sense of wrongness building in my chest with every second of her silence.

“Hannah?” I sit beside her, setting a hand gently on her knee.

I can feel a small tremor run through her body as she shifts on the couch cushion. Ralph butts her nose against my arm and looks up at me, her luminescent eyes wide and concerned, but I barely notice it. All of my attention is focused on Hannah’s downturned face.

“Talk to me,” I say quietly. “What happened today?”

She lifts her gaze to mine, her blue and green eyes glazed with tears, and something inside my chest cracks. Before I can say anything else, she breaks down, tears spilling over her lower lids and trailing down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

“Shit, come here,” I murmur, immediately pulling her into my arms.

She leans against my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt, her fingers clutching at the fabric as if she’s drowning and I’m a life raft. I stroke her hair, running my fingers through the dark strands before I rub soothing circles on her upper back, completely at a loss for what could have upset her this badly.

Did someone hurt her? Is she in trouble?

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together,” I say in a low voice. “I promise.”

She stiffens at my words, her entire body going rigid in my arms. For a heartbeat, her fingers tighten their grip on my shirt as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on—but then she suddenly releases me and pushes away.

Scooting across the cushions, she slides to the opposite end of the couch in one quick movement, displacing Ralph. Her knees draw up slightly, creating a barrier between us as she settles against the armrest. The sudden distance feels like a physical blow, cold air rushing into the space between us, the cushion still warm from where she was sitting a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wiping roughly at her tears with the heel of her hand. Her breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “I can’t do this.”

I blink, confusion momentarily dwarfing my concern. “Can’t do what?”

“This.” Her voice is strained as she gestures between with a shaky hand. Ralph, already clearly off-balance by seeing her human so upset, meows softly from where she landed on the floor. “Us. I can’t do us anymore.”