Page 60 of Wisteria and Cloves
The word hung between us, unspoken until now but undeniably present. We all felt it—this fierce protectiveness, thisdesperate need to shield her from further harm, this growing certainty that she belonged with us.
"Is that what this is?" Christopher asked softly, his gray eyes wide with wonder. "Because I've never felt anything like this before either. The need to feed her, to comfort her, to see her smile..."
"The way she trusted me enough to let me help her through the panic attack," Julian added, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The way she asked questions this morning without fear," Nicolaus added quietly. "Seeking understanding rather than just trying to please."
I nodded, leaning against the counter. "And how she lit up in the garden yesterday, showing genuine curiosity about something that matters to me."
We fell silent, each processing this revelation. It wasn't just alpha protectiveness or omega caretaking instincts—this was something deeper, more personal. Something that had taken root despite the short time she'd been with us.
"But is it fair to her?" Julian asked, voicing the concern we all shared. "She's barely beginning to discover who she is without her parents' control. Is it right for us to introduce our feelings when she's still so vulnerable?"
Nicolaus considered this, his analytical mind turning over the ethical implications. "I think the key is transparency, without pressure. She needs to know she has choices.”
"She needs to know she's valued for who she is, not who she might become for us," Christopher added, his voice thoughtful. "And that our care for her isn't conditional on her returning our feelings."
I moved back to the sink, needing something to do with my hands as I processed the weight of what we were discussing. "So we continue as we have been. Creating safety, offering choices, letting her discover herself at her own pace."
"And we're honest about our growing feelings without making them her responsibility," Julian said, returning to his seat at the island. His posture had relaxed slightly, the tension of uncertainty giving way to something more like resolve.
Nicolaus reopened his tablet, making additional notes. "We should also prepare for the possibility that her healing journey might lead her away from us. True choice means accepting that she might choose differently than we hope."
The thought sent a sharp pang through my chest, but I knew it was true. I just hoped in the end she would choose us.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lilianna
The 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.”
