Page 29

I settled back onto my bed, wrapping the soft blanket around my shoulders as I waited.

The house was quiet except for the distant sounds of conversation and movement from downstairs—the gentle domesticity of people preparing and sharing a meal.

It should have made me feel excluded, but instead it felt comforting, like being surrounded by life while having the space I needed.

True to his word, Miles returned about thirty minutes later with a soft knock. "Dinner delivery," he called through the door.

I rose and opened it, finding him holding a tray with a steaming bowl of stew, fresh bread, and what looked like apple cider in a tall glass. His smile was warm but careful, his green eyes assessing me without judgment.

"You look better," he observed softly. "More rested."

"I feel better," I admitted, stepping back to let him bring the tray inside. "Thank you for this."

Miles set the tray on the small table by the window. "Christopher insisted on sending extra bread. He says carbs are essential for emotional recovery." His tone was light, but I could sense the genuine concern beneath the casual words.

"That's very thoughtful," I said, my eyes fixed on the tray. The aroma rising from the bowl made my mouth water despite my emotional exhaustion. "How is everyone doing? Are they... are they upset with me?"

Miles's expression softened further, and he moved to sit on the edge of my bed, careful to maintain respectful distance. "Upset with you? Lilianna, no one is upset with you. We're concerned about you, which is entirely different."

I fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, unable to meet his eyes. "But I ruined the baking lesson. I made such a scene over a stupid bowl."

"You had a trauma response," Miles corrected gently. "That isn’t making a scene. And as for the baking lesson—Christopher is already planning your next attempt. He's more determined than ever to teach you, if you're willing."

The relief that flooded through me was almost overwhelming. "Really?" I asked, still unable to quite believe Christopher would want to try again after my breakdown. "He's not... discouraged?"

Miles smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The opposite, actually. He's busy researching trauma-informed teaching methods. I left him surrounded by psychology books and baking manuals."

A small laugh escaped me at the mental image, surprising both of us. Miles's smile widened in response.

"There's that laugh," he said softly. "I was hoping we'd hear it again today."

I ducked my head, embarrassed by his obvious pleasure in my small moment of joy. My fingers found the kintsugi stone in my pocket, tracing its smooth surface and golden seams.

"Christopher gave me this," I said, pulling it out to show Miles. "He said it was... kintsugi?"

"Ah," Miles nodded, his expression warming. "The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Making something more beautiful through its mending." He reached out, palm up, silently asking permission to see the stone.

I placed it in his hand, watching as he turned it over carefully, his fingers tracing the golden seams.

"Christopher has always been drawn to this concept," Miles said softly. "The idea that our breaks and repairs become part of our beauty rather than flaws to hide." He handed the stone back with careful reverence. "It suits you."

"I'm not sure I understand how," I admitted, cradling the stone in my palm. "I don't feel particularly beautiful when I'm falling apart."

Miles considered this, his green eyes thoughtful.

"Beauty isn't about perfection, Lilianna.

It's about authenticity. When you laughed in the garden yesterday, when you chose comfort over appearance this morning, when you let Julian help you through your panic attack—those moments of genuine response are beautiful precisely because they're real. "

I turned the stone over in my palm, considering his words. "My mother always said beauty required control. Perfect composure, perfect appearance, perfect behavior."

"Your mother was wrong about many things," Miles said quietly, echoing Nicolaus's earlier words. "Real beauty comes from being fully yourself, not from hiding who you are behind a perfect mask."

I nodded slowly, tucking the stone back into my pocket. The weight of it felt grounding, a tangible reminder that brokenness didn't equal worthlessness.

"You should eat while it's still warm," Miles said, gesturing toward the tray. "Christopher will never forgive me if I let his stew get cold."

I moved to the small table, settling into the chair as Miles made himself comfortable on the window seat.

The first spoonful of stew was a revelation—rich, hearty broth with tender beef and vegetables that tasted like they'd been simmering all day.

The warmth spread through me, chasing away the last remnants of anxiety.

"This is incredible," I said, breaking off a piece of the fresh bread to dip into the broth. "Christopher really is talented."

"He puts love into everything he makes," Miles replied, watching me eat with quiet satisfaction. "Food is one of his primary love languages. The fact that you're enjoying it means more to him than you probably realize."

I paused mid-bite, considering this. "Love languages?"

"The different ways people express and receive affection," Miles explained, his tone gentle and educational rather than condescending.

"Christopher shows love through cooking and caring for people.

Julian expresses love through protection and providing security.

Nicolaus shows affection through understanding and giving clarity.

" Miles smiled softly. "And I tend to express love through patience and creating growth opportunities—whether that's with plants or people. "

I absorbed this information as I continued eating, thinking about the different ways they'd each approached me since my arrival. "What about receiving love? Do people need different things?"

"Absolutely," Miles nodded, pleased by my interest. "Some people need words of affirmation, others need physical touch or quality time.

Some need acts of service or gifts that show thoughtfulness.

" He paused, studying me with gentle curiosity.

"Have you ever thought about what makes you feel most cared for? "

The question caught me off guard. I'd never been asked to consider my own needs in terms of receiving affection. "I... I don't think I know," I admitted quietly.

Miles nodded, unsurprised by my answer. "That makes sense. When you've been taught that your purpose is to please others, there's little opportunity to discover what pleases you." His voice held no judgment, just a calm understanding that made my chest ache with something like relief.

"How do I figure it out?" I asked, breaking off another piece of bread.

"Pay attention to what resonates," Miles suggested. "When Julian brought you tea and poetry, when Christopher gave you the kintsugi stone, when Nicolaus spoke honestly with you this morning—notice which gestures make you feel most seen and valued."

I considered this as I finished my stew, the rich flavor warming me from the inside. The stone in my pocket felt heavier suddenly, more significant.

"Christopher's gift made me feel... understood," I said slowly, testing the words.

"And when Julian helped me through the panic attack without trying to force me to calm down, that made me feel.

.. safe." I paused, struggling to articulate feelings I'd never been encouraged to examine.

"And Nicolaus this morning, the way he just talked to me normally, like I was capable of understanding complex things—that made me feel respected. "

Miles smiled, his expression warm with approval. "Those are important insights, Lilianna. They tell you something about what you value in relationships."

I finished the last spoonful of stew, my body feeling more grounded now that I'd eaten. "What about you? What makes you feel cared for?"

The question seemed to surprise him, his green eyes widening slightly before his expression softened. "Me? I respond most to quality time and physical touch. Having someone sit with me in the garden while I work, or a casual hand on my shoulder—those small connections mean everything to me."

I nodded, understanding flooding through me. "Is that why you stayed while I ate? Not just to keep me company, but because spending time together matters to you?"

Miles's cheeks colored slightly, a boyish smile crossing his features.

"Guilty as charged. Though I genuinely wanted to make sure you were okay too.

" He stood, stretching his arms above his head.

"But I should let you rest. Tomorrow's a new day, and there's no rush to do anything you're not ready for. "

"Miles?" I called as he reached for the empty tray. "Thank you. For bringing me dinner, for explaining about love languages, for... for not making me feel broken."

His expression grew tender, and for a moment I thought he might reach out to touch my hand. Instead, he simply nodded. "You're not broken, Lilianna. You're healing. There's a difference."

After Miles left with the empty tray, I found myself sitting in the growing twilight, the kintsugi stone warm in my palm.

The conversation had stirred something in me—a curiosity about myself that felt both foreign and exciting.

For the first time in my life, someone had asked me to consider what I needed, what made me feel valued.

I moved to the window, watching the last light fade from the sky.

The garden below was peaceful in the gathering darkness, and I could see warm light spilling from the kitchen windows.

The house felt alive around me, full of people who were learning to care about me in ways I was only beginning to understand.