Page 27

Chapter Nineteen

Christopher

I watched Julian guide Lilianna up the stairs, my heart aching at her trembling form. The moment they disappeared from view, I slammed my palm against the counter, a rare display of anger that made Miles look up sharply.

"She made her kneel on broken glass," I hissed, keeping my voice low despite the fury coursing through me. "What kind of monster does that to their child?"

Miles's expression was dark, his normally gentle eyes hard with controlled rage. "The kind that sees their daughter as property rather than a person." He finished wiping down the counter with more force than necessary. "I knew her parents were controlling, but this..."

"It explains so much," I said, running a hand through my hair as I tried to process what we'd just learned. "The way she flinches when she makes the smallest mistake. How she watches us constantly for signs of disapproval."

Miles nodded grimly, tossing the dishrag into the sink. "And the panic attack when the bowl broke. Her body went into full trauma response before her mind could catch up."

I moved to the counter where our abandoned scone dough sat, suddenly feeling the weight of every small kindness we'd need to show her. "She was terrified we'd punish her. Actually terrified."

"Did you see how she couldn't believe we weren't angry?" Miles asked, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. "Like she was waiting for the punishment to come."

I began covering the dough with a clean kitchen towel, my movements automatic while my mind raced. "She apologized for wasting our time. Our time." I shook my head, the absurdity of it hitting me fresh. "As if she's some burden we're tolerating rather than someone we want here."

The refrigerator hummed in the background as I tried to steady my breathing. "What else has she endured that we don't know about? If her mother would do that over a perfume bottle..."

Miles leaned against the counter, his expression grim. "We're only seeing the tip of the iceberg. Twenty-three years of that kind of treatment doesn't just disappear overnight."

I gathered the remaining baking supplies, organizing them with methodical precision to help calm my racing thoughts and boiling rage at the treatment she’s endured from those who should have loved and protected her.

"Did you notice how she tensed when Julian touched her face?

Like she expected his hands to hurt her instead of comfort her? "

"But she let him help her upstairs," Miles pointed out, a hint of hope in his voice. "That's something, at least. She's starting to trust us, even if it's just in small moments."

The back door opened, and Nicolaus walked in, his hair still damp from his swim, his eyes immediately scanning the kitchen. "I could hear raised voices from outside. What's wrong?"

Miles and I exchanged a look, neither of us sure how to explain what had just happened.

"Lilianna had a panic attack," I said finally, my voice still tight with emotion. "She accidentally dropped a bowl while we were baking, and it triggered something."

Nicolaus set down his swim bag, his analytical gaze taking in the cleaned kitchen, the covered dough, and our obvious distress. "What kind of trigger?"

Miles's jaw clenched. "Her mother made her kneel on broken glass when she broke a perfume bottle. As punishment for being 'careless.'"

Nicolaus went completely still, the only sign of his reaction a slight tightening around his eyes. "She made her kneel on broken glass," he repeated, as if trying to fully process the words.

"Yes," I confirmed, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. "To 'teach her a lesson' about being careful with valuable things."

Nicolaus's expression hardened into something dangerous, his normally analytical demeanor giving way to cold fury. "That crosses the line from controlling into criminal abuse."

Miles pushed away from the counter, pacing the kitchen with restless energy. "She was genuinely shocked we weren't angry about a broken bowl. Like she couldn't comprehend a world where accidents don't merit punishment."

"Where is she now?" Nicolaus asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"Julian took her upstairs to rest," I explained, wiping flour from my hands with mechanical precision. "She was exhausted after the panic attack, you know how they drain you."

Nicolaus nodded once, his clinical mind already processing the implications. "Panic attacks are physically exhausting, especially when triggered by trauma responses. Her body went into full fight-or-flight mode."

"What do we do now?" I asked, feeling helpless in the face of damage I couldn't simply fix with kindness and good food. "How do we help her when every instinct she has is based on expecting punishment?"

“We have to make sure we are honest and keep reassuring her.” Julian spoke as he walked into the room, I could tell he was angry by his posture. He looked like he was ready to tear someone’s throat out.

"How is she?" I asked immediately, my concern overriding everything else.

Julian's expression was grim as he joined us around the kitchen island.

"Physically exhausted. Emotionally drained.

She's trying to convince herself she's fine, but I could hear her crying through the door.

" His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"She told me she didn't want me to stay, but everything about her scent and body language screamed that she needed comfort. "

"Why didn't you stay anyway?" Miles asked, his tone curious rather than accusatory.

"Because forcing comfort on someone who's been conditioned to expect unwanted touch would have made things worse," Julian replied, though the restraint clearly cost him. "She needs to know her boundaries will be respected, even when we think we know better."

Nicolaus nodded approvingly at Julian's restraint. "That was the right choice, even though it was difficult. Trust has to be built through respect.”

I felt my chest tighten at the thought of Lilianna alone upstairs, crying and trying to convince herself she was fine. "But she shouldn't have to suffer alone. There has to be something we can do."

"There is," Nicolaus said, his analytical mind already working through possibilities. "We give her space to process, but we also make sure she knows support is available when she's ready for it."

Julian ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I wanted to hold her until she stopped shaking. Every instinct I have is screaming to comfort her,” I watched him sigh and bring his instincts to heel, “but I could see in her eyes when I touched her, fear.."

"She let you touch her though," Miles pointed out.

"True," Julian acknowledged, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "When she was panicking, she didn't pull away from my hands on her face. That's progress, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

I moved to the stove, needing something to do with my nervous energy. "Maybe I could make her some tea? Something calming she could have when she's ready?"

"Chamomile," Nicolaus suggested immediately. "It has mild sedative properties that can help with residual anxiety after a panic attack."

Miles was already reaching for the kettle. "I'll do it. My hands need something productive right now, before I put my fist through a wall thinking about what her parents did to her." He ground through his clenched teeth.

We moved around each other with practiced efficiency, each of us channeling our protective instincts into small acts of care.

Miles prepared the tea while I arranged some of the leftover pastries from yesterday on a small plate.

Nicolaus retrieved a soft throw blanket from the living room, and Julian found a book of poetry from the library that he thought might provide gentle distraction.

"We're treating her like she's made of glass," Miles observed quietly as he arranged everything on a tray. "But maybe that's what she needs right now—to be handled with extraordinary care until she learns we won't break her."

"There's a difference between treating someone as fragile and treating them as precious," Nicolaus corrected, his voice thoughtful. "She's been made to feel breakable by people who saw her as disposable. We see her as valuable."

Julian picked up the tray, testing its weight. "I'll leave this outside her door with a note. She can choose whether to take it or not, but she'll know we're thinking of her."

“Good idea.” I said, maybe I’ll write a note for her later too. I shook my head before glancing at Julian.

"What will you say in the note?" I asked, watching Julian consider his words carefully.

"Just that we care about her and that breaking things doesn't change how we feel," Julian replied, his voice soft with determination. "And that whenever she's ready, we'll be here."

Julian then left the three of us alone in the kitchen. As Julian disappeared up the stairs with the tray, I began cleaning up the remaining baking supplies, my hands finding comfort in the familiar ritual.

"We need to be more careful," Nicolaus said, his voice low and measured. "There are likely countless triggers we don't know about yet."

Miles leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "How do we prepare for things we can't anticipate? Every normal interaction could be laced with trauma for her."

"We can't anticipate everything," I admitted, putting the flour container back in its place. "But we can create an environment where mistakes aren't catastrophic. Where she feels safe enough to tell us when something triggers her."

"And we document what we learn," Nicolaus added, his analytical mind already cataloging the morning's events. "Each trigger we identify helps us understand what she's been through and how to help her heal."

I nodded, grateful for Nicolaus's methodical approach. "Should we tell her about our documentation? Or would that make her feel like she's being studied?"

"Transparency is essential," Nicolaus replied without hesitation. "If she discovers we're keeping notes without her knowledge, it could destroy the trust we're building. But if we explain that understanding her experiences helps us avoid causing her pain..."

"It shows we're invested in her comfort," Miles finished, his expression brightening slightly. "That we care enough to remember what hurts her."

I wiped down the counter again, my thoughts racing. Today didn’t go how I’d planned. I sincerely hope this won’t deter her from trying to bake again.