I helped her to her feet, though she barely seemed aware of it, her body moving more from habit than intention. “Come on,” I said, softer now, steadying her as she swayed slightly. “Let’s get you inside.” The house loomed behind us—large, pristine, every window dark except for the faint glow in the living room.

Claire hesitated. It was subtle, but I felt it—the way her body resisted that single step toward the front door. That was all I needed to know. This wasn’t just a bad moment. This was something deeper, something that had been building long before I arrived.

“We don’t have to go in there,” I added quickly, adjusting my grip on her arm. “We can go back to my place. Or anywhere. Just… not here.” For the first time, she looked directly at me, really looked, as if weighing whether she was allowed to want that.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered finally, her voice hoarse, barely audible over the rain. The words hit harder than anything else could have. Not I’m fine. Not It’s nothing. But that. A quiet confession of how alone she’d felt.
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