Page 112 of Wasted Grace

I watch—helpless—as she collapses. Her knees hit the carpet hard.

I wince at the sound, the instinct to catch her coming too late.

But then I’m on the floor. I’m pulling her into my arms. Holding her like she’s glass already cracked.

She’s trembling. Violently. Her body vibrating with the kind of terror I can’t seem to reach.

Notthistime.

Her lips are moving. Barely. A faint whisper scraping through her throat on repeat:

“Stop, stop,stop.”

And this...thisisn’t like the night of her nightmare.

This isn’t even a panic attack. This is a full break. A mind torn open and bleeding memory.

My chest tightens as her limbs go slack, her eyes wide and unmoving—still fixed on some point in the ceiling that doesn’t exist.

“Gree...” I manage to whisper.

Nothing.

I cradle her tighter, cocooning her in my arms like that might shield her from the storm inside her. But I canfeelit—she’s not in this room. Not in thistime.

And then the chant shifts.

It’s not‘stop’anymore. It’s a newer shaky mantra.

“I chose this.”

Over and over andoveragain.

Her voice—raw, gutted, fraying at the seams. Each repetition another knife across my ribs.

She believes it. That this washerdoing. That this violation—this war on her body and soul—washerfault.

And I—I feel myself shatter.

Enough that I realize that—yes, shedidchoose it. I may have made her abandon the safety we built, but I didn’t make her choose the violence. The blame she carries, tears through my heart. I could’ve protected her from leaving me.

But I couldn’t have protected her fromthis.

And this—thisis what was left behind.

Time stretches and breaks. I don’t know how long we lay like this—me holding her, her unraveling in my arms on the floor.

But then—finally—her breath hitches.

Her eyes begin to see again. Flicking to my face like she’s surfacing from miles under. I study every twitch and crumble of her scar.

She blinks. Her lips part.

“I...” she finally whimpers, as if seeing me for the very first time. “Help...”

The words crackle through the silence she’d created. Taking the last beat of my heart with it.

Help.How?