Page 55

And then, after a long moment where the only sound is the soft hum of the city beyond the windows, she speaks.

Her voice is so quiet, I almost miss it.

“He came to Naomi’s flat.”

The words slice through the stillness like a blade. My whole body goes taut. But I don’t move. Don’t speak. I force myself to stay still, to stay soft, even as every instinct inside me sharpens to a knife’s edge.

She doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring straight ahead, her voice small and clinical, like she’s reading a weather report instead of recounting something that split her wide open.

“He just... walked in. Like nothing had changed. Like he still had the right to.”

I clench my hands into fists against my knees, trying to bleed the fury out through my knuckles without making a sound.

She speaks in fragments after that. Hesitant. Halting. Telling me about the way he acted, like she owed him a conversation. How he forced his way inside. The twisting guilt he tried to wrap around her like a net. And then…

“He grabbed me.”

The words wreck me.

She says it like it doesn’t matter. Like she needs to flatten it down before it flattens her. But her fingers curl tighter into the sleeves of her cardigan, pulling them up to her knuckles.

“Pushed me,” she says again, softer this time, like saying it smaller will make it hurt less.

I stay exactly where I am. Still. Anchored. Because if I move, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold the anger back.

She tells me Mia came out afterward. That she saw enough to ask if he hurt her.

And Ellie. God, Ellie . She lied. Told her no. Because that’s who she is. The one who protects everyone else, even if it leaves her bleeding.

When she finishes, the silence between us is so heavy it feels like another person in the room.

I let it stretch. Let her have it. Let her feel whatever she needs to without pushing her.

Then, voice low and careful, I say, “Can I see?”

She hesitates, and for a second, I think she might pull back. Retreat. Fold herself smaller. But then she extends her arm toward me.

I reach out, just as slowly. Take the edge of her sleeve between my fingers and ease it back.

The bruise blooms across her wrist, dark and swollen, the skin mottled with purples and sickly yellow. It clings to her like something branded, fingers etched in flesh, a mark he left behind without asking. A signature she never gave permission for.

It stops me cold.

A flush of heat surges through me, sharp and instant, like a match to dry leaves. My chest locks tight, breath snagging behind my ribs, and for a second, I swear they might crack from the strain.

I lower the sleeve gently, like the bruise might shatter under my touch.

My hands retreat to my lap, useless, trembling with something that wants to be violence.

I flex my fingers to keep from clenching them into fists.

But I can’t give in to that. Not here. Not now.

Not when she’s beside me, too quiet, too still.

. What she needs isn’t rage. It’s safety.

And right now, that means staying still, even when everything in me wants to burn.

“I don’t…” I try again, my voice rougher now, ragged with helplessness. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say right now, baby.”

She doesn’t respond. Just watches me like she’s waiting for something to crack.

And God, I want to fix it. I want to take the pain out of her hands and carry it myself. But I can’t, not unless she lets me.

“But this isn’t okay,” I say, more firmly now. “What he did, what he’s still doing, it’s not okay, Ellie. You know that right? And you don’t need to minimise it. Not to me. Not to yourself. This isn’t just some heated argument. It’s not normal. It’s not something you deserved.”

She looks away, her lips pressed into a tight line, her fingers curling inwards like she’s trying to disappear.

So, I shift closer. I cup her face gently, guiding her to look at me. Her eyes are glassy, brimming with tears that haven’t yet fallen.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” I tell her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to keep making excuses for his choices. You don’t have to keep hiding.”

She swallows hard. Her voice trembles. “I just… I needed to be near you. You make it stop. You make it quiet, Kieran. You make all the bad stuff just… go away.”

My breath catches. Because I get it. I’ve felt it too. That pull toward someone who makes the noise die down. And hearing it from her, it unravels me.

I press my forehead to hers, gently, and stay there. Not kissing her. Not touching beyond the anchor of her face in my hands. Just being here.

“I hope you know how proud I am of you,” I whisper.

She draws back slightly, like she didn’t expect that. Like those words land heavier than anything else I’ve said.

“I mean it,” I add, voice thick. “You could’ve buried this. You could’ve smiled through it and let it eat you alive. But you didn’t. You came here. You let me in. You let someone see it.”

Her eyes shimmer. Her lips part like she might speak, but the words don’t come.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” I say. “And I hate that you had to be.”

She exhales shakily. One tear slides down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb, brushing it gently away.

“I know you’re scared,” I murmur. “I know this feels broken. But you’re not doing this alone. You haven’t been for a long time. I hope you see that.”

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t need to. Because she leans into me. Just enough. And I hold her there for as long as she needs.

She stays curled into me long after the words have dried up, tucked beneath my arm, her fingers lightly curled in the fabric of my hoodie. The way someone holds on when they’re not ready to let go entirely, but they’re trying to believe they can.

My thumb brushes over her shoulder in slow, steady strokes, anchoring her to the here and now. Every few seconds, she exhales like she’s releasing something she’s been holding for far too long. Her whole body feels different now. Less rigid. Less guarded. Not unbroken, but beginning to settle.

The bruise is still there, hidden just beneath the fabric, but it doesn’t own this moment. Not now. Not with her head on my shoulder and the quiet steadiness of her breathing against my side. What matters is that she came. That she told me. That she let herself rest.

I tilt my head and let my chin settle into her hair, the soft scent of lavender wrapping around me, anchoring me like a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

It’s not the easy kind of closeness we’ve shared before.

There’s no teasing, no warmth laced with laughter.

This is quieter. Heavier. Real in a way that leaves no room for anything but truth.

This is what it means to be someone’s safe place. And maybe that’s all I need to be for her right now. Not the one who fights. Not the one who fixes.

Just the one who stays. And for as long as she needs somewhere to land, I’ll be right here. And I’m not going anywhere.