Page 28

Chapter Twenty

Lilianna

I 'm not sure how long I stayed on the floor with the door at my back, crying until my throat was raw and my chest ached.

The exhaustion from the panic attack had settled into my bones, making everything feel heavy and distant.

When the tears finally stopped, I remained curled against the door, staring at nothing.

A soft knock made me jolt, my heart racing again.

"Lilianna?" Julian's voice was muffled through the wood, gentle and patient. "I'm leaving some things outside your door, just some tea and a few other items. No pressure to take them—but they'll be there when you're ready."

I heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway, and after several minutes of silence, I slowly opened the door.

A tray sat on the floor with a steaming mug of tea, some pastries, a soft blanket, and a slim book of poetry.

Tucked beneath the mug was an envelope, I picked it up and inside was a handwritten note in Julian's careful script.

I read over the words, they were simple words, but the note was reassuring me.My eyes blurring with fresh tears, not tears of panic this time, but something else—a mixture of gratitude and disbelief that such kindness could exist without conditions attached.

I gathered the tray carefully, bringing it inside and settling on my bed with the soft blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

The tea was warmed perfectly, fragrant with chamomile and something that might have been honey.

Each sip seemed to ease the tightness in my chest, the warmth spreading through me like a gentle wave.

I picked up the book of poetry, running my fingers over its worn cover.

It was clearly beloved—the spine creased from frequent opening, a few pages marked with thin ribbons.

I opened to one of the marked poems, finding a gentle verse about healing and second chances.

I wondered if Julian had chosen this specific book for me, if these marked pages held meanings he thought might resonate. The care in the gesture made my throat tighten again.

How strange it was to be comforted after a breakdown instead of criticized.

In my parents' home, displaying emotional weakness was unacceptable—a failure of proper Omega decorum.

If I'd had a panic attack there, my mother would have been mortified, concerned only with how my "hysterics" reflected on her parenting.

But these men... they had responded with nothing but kindness. I closed my eyes trying to push back the voice of my mother and how she taught me. I still feel like I messed up, today was only the second day I was here and I was already starting up trouble.

I took another sip of tea, letting the warmth soothe my raw throat. Part of me wanted to hide in this room forever, avoiding the inevitable awkwardness when I faced them again. What would they think of me now? Would they see me as damaged, unstable, too much work?

A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.

"Lilianna?" It was Christopher's voice this time, hesitant and gentle. "May I speak with you for a moment? It's completely fine if you'd prefer to be alone."

I froze, clutching the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

The instinct to pretend I wasn't here, to avoid a confrontation, was overwhelming. I didn’t want to see them right now, not when I’m sure they decided that I’m too much work and have changed their minds.

I gave a small whimper trying to make the voices from my insecurities shut up.

Another soft knock followed. "Lilianna, I just want to make sure you're okay. You don't have to open the door."

I drew a shaky breath, warring with myself. The tea had calmed me somewhat, and Christopher's voice carried nothing but concern. Still, the thought of facing him after my breakdown made my stomach clench.

"I'm... I'm okay," I managed, my voice sounding small even to my own ears.

"May I come in?" he asked. "I brought something for you, but I can leave it at the door if you prefer."

I bit my lip, “Can you leave it at the door please.”

There was a brief pause, then Christopher's gentle voice replied, "Of course. I'll leave it right here. It's just a little note and something I thought might help."

I heard a soft rustle outside the door, then his footsteps retreating down the hallway. After waiting until I was sure he was gone, I crept to the door and opened it just enough to see what he'd left.

There on the floor, sat a small package wrapped in tissue paper with a note attached. I brought it inside, settling on my bed before carefully unfolding the note.

My lips curled up in a smile as I read a note similar to Julian’s, but with caring words and telling me he hoped we could try backing together again.

I unwrapped the tissue paper to find a small, smooth stone polished to a gentle sheen.

It was a deep blue-green color, like the ocean on a clear day, with subtle gold streaks running through it.

The stone fit perfectly in my palm, its weight oddly comforting as I closed my fingers around it.

“Pretty.” I muttered. I could see that it had once been broken and gold streaks seemed to hold the glued stone back together.

I turned the stone over in my hands, running my fingertips along the golden seams where it had been broken and repaired.

The metaphor wasn't subtle, but it touched something deep inside me.

This stone had been shattered and put back together, yet it was more beautiful for having been broken.

I held it against my chest, its cool surface gradually warming against my skin. Christopher had given this to me deliberately, a tangible reminder that broken things could be mended, could even become more precious through the repair.

I turned the stone over, feeling its smooth surface against my skin.

The gold veins where it had been repaired caught the light, making the breaks seem like intentional embellishments rather than flaws.

There was a small folded note tucked inside the tissue paper that I'd missed initially.

I opened it, finding Christopher's neat handwriting:

This is kintsugi stone. The Japanese art of repairing broken things with gold, making them more beautiful for having been broken. Not everything that breaks is ruined. Sometimes the breaking and mending creates something stronger and more precious. —Chris

Tears welled in my eyes again as I clutched the stone. The metaphor wasn't subtle, but it resonated deeply. I'd always been taught that flaws were to be hidden, mistakes covered up and denied. The concept that brokenness could be acknowledged, even celebrated, felt revolutionary.

I placed the stone on my nightstand where I could see it, then settled back against my pillows with the book of poetry. The afternoon light filtered through my windows, casting gentle shadows across the room as I lost myself in verses about resilience and renewal.

The afternoon sun streamed through my windows, casting warm patterns across the floor.

I found myself growing drowsy despite the emotional turmoil, the chamomile tea and exhaustion from the panic attack pulling me toward sleep.

I curled up on the bed with the soft blanket, the kintsugi stone cool against my palm as I drifted off.

When I woke, the room was bathed in the golden light of early evening. My body felt heavy but more settled, the sharp edges of panic smoothed by rest. The stone was still clutched in my hand, its weight grounding me as consciousness returned fully.

I sat up slowly, running my fingers through my tangled hair and glancing at the clock.

It was past six—I'd slept for hours. My stomach growled, reminding me that I'd missed lunch entirely.

The thought of facing everyone after my breakdown still made anxiety flutter in my chest, but hiding in my room indefinitely wasn't a solution either.

I moved to the bathroom, splashing cool water on my face and studying my reflection.

My eyes were still slightly puffy from crying, but the desperate panic had faded.

I looked tired but composed—human rather than shattered.

I combed my fingers through my hair, deciding to leave it loose rather than attempting any elaborate style.

The kintsugi stone caught my eye as I passed back into the bedroom. Picking it up, I ran my thumb over its smooth surface before slipping it into the pocket of my sundress. Its weight against my thigh felt reassuring somehow, a physical reminder of Christopher's message.

Taking a deep just as a soft knock on my door made me jump.

"Lilianna?" Miles's voice drifted through the wood. "I know you might not be ready to come out, but dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes if you're feeling up to joining us. No pressure at all."

I hesitated, my fingers still wrapped around Christopher's stone. The thought of facing them after my breakdown made anxiety flutter in my chest, but hiding away forever wasn't something I could do forever…but maybe just today I could.

"Thank you," I called back, my voice rough from crying and sleep. "I... I would like to stay in my room….if that is okay.” If they pushed I would leave and go downstairs.

"Of course that's okay," Miles replied immediately, his voice carrying nothing but understanding. "Would you like me to bring you a plate? Christopher made his grandmother's beef stew, and it's perfect comfort food."

The offer surprised me with its simple kindness. No guilt, no insistence that I join them—just acceptance of my needs and an offer of care.

"That would be... that would be very kind," I managed, my throat tight with emotion. "Thank you."

"I'll be back in a bit," Miles said, and I heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway.