Page 31

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lilianna

T he next day I stayed in my room. I was brought food through the day, but I stayed in my nest getting my emotions back in check. It was evening now when I heard a knock on the door.

"Lilianna?" Nicolaus's distinctive voice came through the wood, measured and calm. "I wanted to check on you. You've been upstairs all day."

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, still curled in my nest. Part of me wanted to pretend I was asleep, to avoid the conversation entirely. But something in his tone—concern without pressure—made me respond.

"I'm awake," I said softly, my voice still rough from crying on and off throughout the day.

"May I come in? I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

My stomach clenched with anxiety. Was this it? Had they decided I was too much trouble, too damaged to be worth their effort? I'd seen how patient they'd been yesterday, but everyone had limits.

"Okay," I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard.

The door opened slowly, and Nicolaus stepped inside. He wore dark jeans and a navy sweater that brought out his blue eyes, his damp hair suggesting he'd recently returned from his evening swim. In his hands was a slim folder and what looked like a small gift bag.

"Thank you," he said simply, settling into the chair by my window without invitation but somehow making it feel natural rather than presumptuous. "How are you feeling today?"

I shifted in my nest, pulling my knees closer to my chest. "Embarrassed. Tired. Like I've caused nothing but trouble since I arrived."

Nicolaus studied me with that analytical gaze that somehow felt caring rather than clinical. "Interesting. From my perspective, you've shown remarkable courage in facing new experiences and processing difficult emotions. That's quite different from causing trouble."

"I broke Christopher's bowl. I ruined the baking lesson. I hid in my room all day like a child," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You must all think I'm pathetic."

Nicolaus set the folder and gift bag on the small table beside him, his movements deliberate and calm.

"Actually, we think you're processing trauma in exactly the way someone should—by taking the time and space you need to heal.

" He leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes intent.

"There's nothing pathetic about having a trauma response to something that triggered painful memories. "

I looked down at my hands, still not quite believing his words. "But I'm supposed to be getting better. Making progress."

"Says who?" Nicolaus asked quietly. "Healing isn't like that, Lilianna. It's not a race with predetermined milestones. Some days you'll feel stronger, some you want to hide away. That is okay.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his, finding only sincerity in his expression. "My parents always said—"

"Your parents were wrong about many things," Nicolaus interrupted gently but firmly. "They treated healing like a performance rather than a process. Real recovery involves setbacks, difficult days, moments when you need to retreat and regroup."

I pulled the kintsugi stone from my pocket, turning it over in my palm. The golden seams caught the lamplight, reminding me of Christopher's message about beauty in brokenness.

"I've been thinking about what Miles said yesterday," I admitted. "About love languages and what makes me feel cared for. I keep wondering if I even deserve that kind of attention."

Nicolaus's expression softened, though his voice remained steady. "What makes you question whether you deserve care?"

The question hit deeper than I expected. I traced the stone's smooth surface with my fingertip, trying to find words for feelings I'd never been allowed to examine.

"Because I'm not contributing anything," I finally said. "I'm just... taking. Your time, your patience, your resources. And what am I giving back? Nothing but problems."

Nicolaus considered this, his expression thoughtful rather than dismissive.

"I understand why you might feel that way, given your upbringing.

You were taught that your value was tied to what you could provide—your appearance, your compliance, your social graces.

" He paused, choosing his words carefully.

"But that's a transactional view of relationships, not a loving one. "

"What's the difference?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"In transactional relationships, worth is calculated by what each person contributes," Nicolaus explained, his analytical mind breaking down complex emotional concepts into something I could grasp.

"In loving relationships, care is given freely because the person is inherently valuable.

You deserve care simply because you exist, not because of what you can offer in return. "

The concept seemed so foreign, so contradictory to everything I'd been taught that I struggled to accept it. "But that doesn't make sense. Everyone has to earn their place."

"Do they?" Nicolaus tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "When an infant is born, do we demand it earn its parents' love? Do we withhold care until it proves itself worthy?"

"That's different," I protested weakly. "Babies can't take care of themselves."

"And adults who have been systematically hurt need space to heal before they can fully participate in giving care," Nicolaus countered gently. "You're in a recovery period, Lilianna. No one expects you to be anything other than what you are right now.”

His words settled over me like a warm blanket, though part of me still resisted accepting them. "What if I never get better? What if this is just who I am—broken and needy?"

"Then we'll love you anyway," Nicolaus said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But I don't believe that's who you are.

I see someone who's incredibly strong—strong enough to survive twenty-three years of systematic abuse and still maintain her capacity for curiosity, kindness, and growth. "

I blinked at him, startled by his matter-of-fact declaration of love. He'd said it so casually, without drama or expectation, that it took a moment for the word to fully register.

"You... love me?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Nicolaus's eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't intended to make such a declaration quite so directly. But after a brief moment, his expression settled into something calm and certain.

"Yes," he said simply. "Not in a way that demands anything from you. Not with expectations or conditions. But I care deeply for your wellbeing and happiness in a way that transcends ordinary concern." He paused, studying my reaction. "Does that frighten you?"

I clutched the kintsugi stone tighter, trying to process his words. No one had ever declared love for me without immediately following it with expectations—of gratitude, of reciprocation, of changed behavior.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "I don't know what you want from me now."

"That's the point," Nicolaus said gently. "I don't want anything from you but your happiness. And for you to have the freedom to choose what happiness means for you," he added, folding his hands in his lap. "Which brings me to why I came to speak with you tonight."

I tensed involuntarily, my fingers still wrapped around Christopher's stone.

"It's nothing to worry about," Nicolaus assured me, noticing my reaction. "I wanted to share something we've been discussing as a pack."

He reached for the folder beside him, opening it to reveal several neatly typed pages. "After yesterday, we realized that there are likely many potential triggers we don't know about—things that might cause you distress because of past experiences."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "You're making a list of my... weaknesses?"

"No," Nicolaus corrected firmly. "We're creating a resource to help us avoid causing you unintentional pain. There's a significant difference.”

He held out the folder for me to see. "This isn't about cataloging weaknesses, Lilianna. It's about understanding and respecting your experiences." His voice softened. "We want this to be a collaborative document. Something you have control over."

I hesitantly took the folder, opening it to see what they'd written.

The first page was titled "Creating Safety: Understanding Lilianna's Experiences.

" It wasn't the clinical list of problems I'd feared but a thoughtfully organized document with sections like "Known Triggers, " " Comfort Measures," and "Communication Preferences. "

Under "Known Triggers" was a single entry: "Breaking items (associated with physical punishment)."

"This is... different than I expected," I admitted, turning the page.

"What did you expect?" Nicolaus asked, his tone curious rather than defensive.

"A list of all the ways I'm difficult," I finished quietly. "All my flaws and problems documented for you to manage."

Nicolaus's expression grew pained. "That's exactly what we hoped to avoid. This isn't about managing you, Lilianna. It's about understanding you." He gestured toward the folder. "Look at the next section."

I turned the page to find "Comfort Measures" with several entries: "Chamomile tea," "Soft blankets," "Poetry," "Time alone to process," and "Gentle, non-pressured conversation."

"You were paying attention," I said softly, surprised by how carefully they'd observed what helped me feel better.

"Of course we were," Nicolaus replied. "The people who care about you should notice what brings you comfort.

" He leaned forward slightly. "But here's what's important—this document belongs to you.

We want you to add to it, correct it, change it as needed.

You have complete authority over what goes in here and what doesn't."

I ran my fingers over the neat typeface, absorbing the implications of what he was offering. "So I could... add things? Things that help me feel safe or things that make me anxious?"