She hides in the barn, swallowed by the dim light and the scent of hay, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. She fights the tears, fights the sound threatening to claw its way from her throat—because the last thing she wants is for you to hear. You’re already doing too much. Holding her together when she’s unraveling, making sure she eats, washing the blood and grief from her skin when she’s too hollow to move.

You love her so much, and she feels like she doesn’t deserve it. Not when she’s this broken, this lost. Not when Joel is gone, and the weight of his absence sits so heavy on her chest she can barely breathe.

Her hands press against her face, fingers digging into her temples, and a choked sound escapes before she can stop it—a raw, splintered thing in the quiet solitude of the barn.

And then—warmth.

A steady hand on her shoulder, grounding, certain. And before she can spiral further, before she can disappear into the ache of it all, your arms are around her. Holding her like she’s something precious, something worth saving.

I got you, baby

Your voice is soft, a promise wrapped in devotion, and she exhales shakily against you. For the first time in what feels like forever, the world doesn’t feel so unbearable.

Because somehow, against all odds, she still has you. The only good thing she has left.