“Looks like you’re ready,” I murmured, glancing between him and Astrid. My chest tightened suddenly, a sharp little ache under my ribs. I squeezed Astrid a little closer.
Corinne’s voice was quiet. “Do you like it here?”
I hesitated, fingers brushing over Astrid’s soft curls. “It’s quiet. The walls don’t yell. People don’t look at me like I’m broken… just folded. Like paper.”
Corinne’s face softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. “Folded can be unfolded,” she whispered.
I met her gaze, and something heavy and electric passed between us. “You’re nice to me,” I said softly.
“You’re easy to be nice to.”
“You don’t ask about… the things everyone else does.” My voice cracked. “About my family. Or the trial. Or the news. You just… let me be.”
Corinne reached out and gently squeezed my hand. “I don’t want to know those things. Not unless you want to tell me.”
I stared down at Astrid, watching as she gnawed on my sleeve, drool soaking through the fabric. “Maybe someday.”
The sun dipped lower, casting everything in honeyed light. Jasper stood in the distance, giving me a small wave.
“Time to go,” I murmured, my chest tightening. I carefully handed Astrid back, smoothing a kiss over her forehead. “I’ll see you at dinner?”
“I’ll save you a seat,” Corinne promised, her voice barely above a whisper.
I stood slowly, glancing back at the kids, then Corinne, then the old woman still deep in conversation with Jasper. For a moment, I didn’t want to leave. For a moment, it felt like I belonged.
As Jasper and I walked back toward the main building, I reached for his hand. “Did you see them, Jas? Did you see how perfect they are?”
“I did, Brit,” he murmured, squeezing my fingers. “They’re beautiful.”
“I think… I think I want to get better,” I whispered. My throat tightened. “I want to be someone’s safe place. Someday.”
Jasper stopped walking, turning to face me. His eyes searched mine, fierce and tender. “You already are, Brit. You just don’t know it yet.”
Tears prickled in my eyes again, but I smiled through them. I tucked myself against his side as we walked, letting the moment stretch, letting the light soak into my skin, pretending—just for a little while—that everything was whole.
Chapter 23
Brittany
The Past — Age 23
A year.
It’s been a whole year since I was admitted here — a year of scraped knees and shaky steps, of learning to chew without guilt, of holding myself back when the urge to curl into someone’s arms and hide became too loud.
I stand at the edge of the common room, arms crossed, chewing at the corner of my lip, watching Corinne shove the last of her things into a faded duffel bag. My fingers twitch against my sides. I tell myself not to go over, not yet, not until I can be sure my voice won’t tremble and my hands won’t grab at her like a child clinging to their mother’s skirt.
But God, it’s hard.
Corinne is laughing at something Tate said — that easy, lilting laugh that fills up the room like sunlight. Sylvia lounges on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, watching with that quiet, knowing smile of hers.
I used to think I didn’t deserve people like them. Hell, some days, I still believe that.
Corinne zips up the duffel and swings it over her shoulder. That’s it. That’s the moment. My chest clenches so hard it hurts.
I walk over, legs stiff, like I’m wading through glue. “Corinne.”
She turns, grinning, cheeks flushed. Her brown hair is pulled up in that messy knot I always teased her about, and her green eyes sparkle with something soft. “Brit! You gonna help me carry this out or just stand there looking cute?”
