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Finn moves behind me.

He runs a hand gently through my hair, fingers sliding slowly from root to end. Then he tilts my face toward his with just enough pressure to make me follow. His mouth brushes mine.

There’s a pause as he waits for my reaction.

But there’s only one possible response: I lean in, finding his lips.

His other hand finds my jaw, his thumb pressing just beneath my chin as he guides the kiss deeper. When he pulls back, it’s only enough so he can look into my eyes.

“Eat,” he says gently.

I glance down at the plate he’s placed in front of me. Two slices of toast. Scrambled eggs. Sautéed vegetables. There’s even a little jelly in a ramekin. It’s perfect.

“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”

He shrugs and sits across from me. “Can’t let my baby go hungry.”

I don’t answer right away. The food smells good, but my stomach is tight.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s normal,” I say. “You’re worried. I can feel it.”

He looks at me across the table. “Yeah. I am. But if anyone can handle this, it’s those two.”

His honesty takes the edge off. He doesn’t lie to make me feel better. He never has. It’s one of the things I love about him.

“I keep thinking this is the day that everything collapses, and I’m the reason,” I admit.

Finn leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Nothing is going to collapse. And you can’t help what has happened to you.”

I want to believe him. He believes it. That much is clear in the way he speaks. But belief doesn’t undo the doubt rising in my chest.

“Boone and Jonah didn’t say anything?”

“Not to me,” he answers. “But they don’t need to. They have a plan.”

“What if something goes wrong?” I ask.

He stands and rounds the table before I can sink deeper into the spiral. His hand brushes my shoulder as he crouches beside my chair. “Then we adjust. You are not alone in this.”

I nod, trying to keep my breathing calm.

He presses a kiss to the side of my head and rests his hand over mine. “Eat what you can,” he says. “Then we’ll go outside.Mae’s been up for an hour, and she’s already asked for you twice.”

The mention of her steadies me—even if I don’t believe him. Mae has never once asked for me. But I nod again and eat another bite of food.

Finn stands and returns to his seat, tearing into his bacon without another word. I force myself to eat, bite by bite. We eat in easy silence. He makes everything feel easier and calms the storm that’s constantly brewing inside of me.

The anxiety doesn’t go away fully. It never does. But it softens when I’m with him.

By the time we’re out the door, the sun has pushed its way over the trees, casting long shadows across the gravel path. Mae scampers off quickly, clutching her stuffed fox. Finn holds the door for me and lets it fall closed behind us. I wait for him to say something about where we’re going, but he just gestures with his chin and follows the edge of the porch toward the side yard.

The pond is out of the question because it’s too far from the safety of the house. I’d been hoping to take Mae down there today since it’s starting to get hot. But we don’t head in that direction. We turn the opposite direction, toward the storage barn.

I don’t even need to ask why he’s joining us outside when I know there are a thousand things to do around the property. They’re worried about me and Mae.

Mae is already there when we finally make our way down. She’s pedaling slow circles across the paved space in front of the barn. She’s in a hoodie that’s too big for her and striped leggings that are too short. Her little pink bike is missing one of the handlebar streamers, but she doesn’t seem to care. She glances up when she hears our steps and waves. Then she goes back to riding her bike.

Finn finds a half-empty bucket of chalk in the storage barn. He picks out a piece of faded green and starts drawing on the pavement. He doesn’t say anything to me. But he leaves space.