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. "Butshe 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."
