Page 77
Story: Silver Fox Mountain Daddies
I sit beside her, careful to leave just enough space so she doesn’t feel crowded. I’ve noticed how quickly she locks up when she feels cornered.
I wait a few seconds before speaking.
“You should’ve told us.”
“I know.” Her voice is flat. “I didn’t think it was a threat.”
“You thought maybe it was just a dead rabbit. A coincidence.”
She doesn’t answer.
I press my elbows to my knees and lean forward, letting the silence stretch. I don’t want to lecture her. She’s not a child. And from what she’s told us, I don’t think anyone’s ever really treated her like an adult.
I don’t want to baby her despite my instincts screaming that I protect her. But I need her to understand that she can trust us and that she needs to lean on us.
“I know why you didn’t say anything,” I say. “You didn’t want us to worry.”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t want to make things worse. Or seem dramatic. Or helpless.”
I turn toward her, watching the way her jaw clenches.
“You can’t protect us by staying quiet,” I tell her. “You already brought us into this. Let us help.”
Her fingers tighten around the mug.
“I should never have brought you into this. It was selfish.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone, Ani.”
“You think I want to carry this alone?”
“No. I think you’ve been carrying it for so long, you don’t know how to set it down.”
She goes quiet again.
I don’t push.
Instead, I ease closer. Just an inch. Then another. Until I’m close enough to easily lay my hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not a burden,” I say. “Not to any of us.”
She presses her lips together, obviously holding something back.
“You are strong, Ani. You have no idea how strong you are.”
She shifts slightly, like the words make her uncomfortable.
“You left everything you knew. You walked away from a life that was designed to keep you trapped. And when it followed you here, you didn’t fold. You stayed.”
I pause, watching the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“You survived. You got yourself free. You didn’t wait to be rescued.”
Her mouth twists into a smile she tries desperately to hide. I shift again, slowly. I reach out and touch her cheek.
“Come here,” I murmur.
I wait a few seconds before speaking.
“You should’ve told us.”
“I know.” Her voice is flat. “I didn’t think it was a threat.”
“You thought maybe it was just a dead rabbit. A coincidence.”
She doesn’t answer.
I press my elbows to my knees and lean forward, letting the silence stretch. I don’t want to lecture her. She’s not a child. And from what she’s told us, I don’t think anyone’s ever really treated her like an adult.
I don’t want to baby her despite my instincts screaming that I protect her. But I need her to understand that she can trust us and that she needs to lean on us.
“I know why you didn’t say anything,” I say. “You didn’t want us to worry.”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t want to make things worse. Or seem dramatic. Or helpless.”
I turn toward her, watching the way her jaw clenches.
“You can’t protect us by staying quiet,” I tell her. “You already brought us into this. Let us help.”
Her fingers tighten around the mug.
“I should never have brought you into this. It was selfish.”
“You don’t have to carry this alone, Ani.”
“You think I want to carry this alone?”
“No. I think you’ve been carrying it for so long, you don’t know how to set it down.”
She goes quiet again.
I don’t push.
Instead, I ease closer. Just an inch. Then another. Until I’m close enough to easily lay my hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away.
“You’re not a burden,” I say. “Not to any of us.”
She presses her lips together, obviously holding something back.
“You are strong, Ani. You have no idea how strong you are.”
She shifts slightly, like the words make her uncomfortable.
“You left everything you knew. You walked away from a life that was designed to keep you trapped. And when it followed you here, you didn’t fold. You stayed.”
I pause, watching the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“You survived. You got yourself free. You didn’t wait to be rescued.”
Her mouth twists into a smile she tries desperately to hide. I shift again, slowly. I reach out and touch her cheek.
“Come here,” I murmur.
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