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I picked her up again, letting her curl against my chest as I sat down on the bed.

She let me. There was no fighting, no struggling, not even a grunt of protest. She just laid her head on my chest and trembled.

She was quiet. Too quiet. Too vulnerable.

Alina was always so fucking strong, and now she needed me. She needed me to be her refuge, to make her feel sheltered and cared for.

That was what I intended to do.

So I took care of her. I took care of her in a way I knew no one else had. Not for a very long time.

With a press of my lips to her forehead, I left her on the bed and moved to the bathroom to draw a warm bath, filling the tub with the rose-scented bubbles she often preferred.

When I brought her in, she didn't fight me. There was no fire in her eyes, no acknowledgement of what was happening. Not even as I stripped her and rolled up my sleeves before I gently lowered her into the water.

I wanted to go in with her, but this wasn't about my comfort. It was about hers.

Keeping my touch gentle, I washed her. My firm hands massaged the bodywash into her shoulders while I tried to release the tension she was holding onto, and then I carefully washed her long hair, taking time to massage the luxurious lather into her scalp until she melted into the bathtub.

I even took my time combing the conditioner through her curls, gently detangling her locks. Showing her how I felt.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say the words, but why would she believe me?

How could I say I loved her when I had taken her, locked her away, and then let her be taken from me?

I wrapped her in a thick robe, lifted her into my arms, and carried her back to bed.

She collapsed onto the comforter, still not saying a word as she stared into space.

I brought her hot tea, coaxing her to take small sips.She did as I asked but said nothing. It was like she was there, but not. Like she had escaped into her own mind.

I wanted her here with me, but what I wanted wasn't important. She had to process what had happened, and all I could do was hope that she would let me in when she was ready.

The sun set, casting long shadows across our room as we lay in bed together. I would have stayed there all night if she needed me to, but then her stomach growled.

Without a word, I sent a text down to room service, ordering comfort food.

Tomato soup with grilled cheese and extra crusty bread. It was my go-to meal when life was a bit too much. The thick, rich soup always seemed to warm me from the inside out, and I hoped it would do the same for her.

When it was delivered, she was still lifeless, just staring at the wall. At least the shaking had stopped.

I brought the food into the bedroom, setting it up on the bedside table, then settled her into my lap.

"Babygirl, I know you're hungry. Can you eat a few bites for me?"

She nodded, her body going limp against mine.

I tore a piece of the sandwich and dipped it into the soup, then brought it to her lips.

Alina resisted at first. But I just pressed my lips to her temple and murmured, "Eat for me, babygirl. I have to take care of you. Please let me."

She opened her mouth obediently and chewed, then swallowed. With every bite, she seemed a little more present, a little more alive.

Each small act of care changed me. It made me realizehow delicate she was, how far I had pushed her, and how much she meant to me.

She was mine.

Yet my world had broken her. I hadn't broken her, and not for lack of trying. I had pushed her to new limits, but all it took was one outing to go terribly wrong, and she shattered in my arms.