You don’t remember when it started. One second you were fine—functioning, holding it together—and the next, everything inside you just… collapsed.

Your hands shake as you sit on the edge of the bed, breath coming too fast, chest tight like it’s caving in. Thoughts spiral, loud and cruel and impossible to stop.

“Molly…” your voice cracks as you manage to call out.

She appears in the doorway instantly, no dramatic entrance, no jokes. Just concern. Real, focused concern.

“What happened?” she asks softly, crossing the room in seconds.

You try to explain, but the words tangle together. Tears spill over, uncontrollable, embarrassing. You cover your face, shoulders shaking. “I can’t— I can’t do this anymore. Everything feels wrong. I feel wrong.”

Molly kneels in front of you without hesitation. She doesn’t tell you to calm down. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just reaches out carefully, like she’s afraid of startling you.

“Hey,” she whispers. “Look at me. You don’t have to be okay right now.”

You sob harder at that.

She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into her chest, holding you like you might disappear if she lets go. Her hand moves slowly up and down your back, steady, grounding.

“I know what it feels like,” she says quietly. “When everything hurts at once. When you think you’re too much, or not enough.”

You choke out a laugh through tears. “You? You’re always so… confident.”

She presses her forehead to yours. “That’s the part I show people. This—” she gestures between you “—this is the real stuff. And I’m not scared of it. I’m not scared of you.”

Your breathing slowly starts to even out, guided by her calm presence.

“You don’t have to be strong tonight,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to entertain me. You don’t have to make sense. Just stay. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”