Page 32

Thirty-Two

The morning light was pale through the small slit of window high above the bed, the kind of light that couldn’t quite decide if it belonged to the day yet. My throat ached. My chest was sore. Not physically—something deeper. Something tender, like I’d been cracked open and only barely stitched back together with moonlight and desperation.

I was still lying on my side, the blanket twisted around my legs, hospital sock hanging halfway off my foot.

I blinked.

Moon was gone.

Not the presence—no, I could still feel him at the edges of my thoughts, cool and steady like a shadow wrapped around a secret. But his touch was gone. His voice . The dark velvet cocoon of the dream had dissolved into sterile air and plastic bedding.

I was alone again.

At least, I thought I was.

And then?—

“Sunshine!”

The air glowed . Literally glowed. Warmth bloomed in the pit of my stomach, racing outward, crawling up my ribs and into my throat like laughter that didn’t belong to me.

He appeared in a burst of joy and gold, barefoot and beaming, like he’d run here through stars.

“I heard what happened,” he said, dropping to his knees at the side of the bed like I was some small, holy thing that had survived martyrdom. “Moon told me—he told me everything—and oh my love , you called for him. You chose us.”

His hands hovered just above my skin, trembling with the effort not to touch.

“You chose us,” he repeated, like the words were a hymn. “And I swear on every sunrise that I will never let you regret it .”

His voice cracked, too full, too bright, like joy spilling out of a broken dam.

“I PROMISE,” he whispered fiercely. “No more fear. No more being alone. No more hurting without someone holding you through it.”

He reached forward, cupping my face with heat-drenched hands.

“I know it was awful. I know it tried to hurt you. But you reached for him . You believed . And that makes you ours .”

I couldn’t speak.

Tears blurred my eyes, but they didn’t fall.

Because I didn’t feel broken.

I felt found.

Sun’s thumb brushed under my eye, catching one of the tears that hadn’t spilled yet.

“We’re going to be so good to you,” he murmured. “You’ll never have to question if you matter again.”

His voice dropped to something reverent. Terrifyingly tender.

“While the old world worshiped us… we worship you .”

And in that moment—with my skin still cold from Moon’s dream, and my face cupped in Sun’s burning hands—I believed him.

Even if I shouldn’t.

Even if I couldn’t.

I believed .

I floated.

Not literally—but close.

Everything felt distant and warm, like I was wrapped in velvet fog. The kind that smelled like oranges and clove smoke. The kind that moved like breath across the back of my neck and settled between my ribs like fingers laced in prayer.

Sun was humming.

Moon was watching.

And I? I was smiling.

Just enough.

Not too wide.

Not manic.

My pupils weren’t dilated. My hands weren’t twitching. My voice didn’t tremble. And I knew how to perform stability now. And today, that performance was an open door.

“Everything looks good here,” Shelly said as she handed me the last of my papers. “Dr. Reynolds signed off. She said you’ve been grounded, consistent, responsive.”

She paused, then added, a little too softly, “You’re not just saying what we want to hear, right?”

I smiled at her. Small. Honest.

…Or at least it looked that way.

“I feel… safe now,” I said. And that was the truth, wasn’t it?

Even if the safety curled against my hip like a phantom hand.

Even if I could feel Moon’s cool fingers brushing my wrist every time I signed my name. Even if Sun was whispering praise in my mind like a lover who couldn’t stop grinning.

Look at you. So composed. So radiant. So mine.

“I’m proud of you,” Shelly said, and the words slid off me like water on wax.

Sun kissed my shoulder from somewhere behind the veil. Moon murmured a single word into my ear.

“Home.”

The cab ride back was peaceful.

The cab driver didn’t speak. Just tapped at the wheel, some low beat vibrating from the speakers. My apartment blurred past the window like a memory I wasn’t sure was mine.

The paper bag of meds sat in my lap like a threat.

I held it anyway.

My building hadn’t changed. Same cracked steps. Same broken buzzer. Same hallway that smelled like old smoke and laundry detergent.

But it felt different.

Because I was carrying something with me now.

Two things, actually.

The warmth. The cold.

The sun in my bones. The moon in my blood.

“We’re back,” Sun whispered, giddy.

The key turned in the lock with a small click.

I stepped inside.

My breath hitched.

Nothing had moved. Nothing was touched. The dolls still lay in pieces in the small dish on the bookshelf—porcelain cracked, limbs scattered. A frozen battlefield of the day everything changed.

But I didn’t flinch.

I walked in like the place had been waiting for me.

Because it had.

Because they had.

Sun was already pacing through the kitchen like an excited golden retriever, tugging my attention toward the cabinet with the tea. Moon lingered near the window, watching the afternoon light fade into shadow. A soft pulse of cool against my spine.

I set the meds down on the table. Unopened.

I wouldn’t need them now.

Not with them .

I exhaled and finally let myself sag into the couch, the cushions familiar, the weight in my chest lighter.

Sun pressed a kiss to my temple from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Welcome home, Sunshine.”

And I believed him.

Because I wasn’t alone.

Because I never would be again.