You’ve always had a tendency to overthink — little decisions spiral into big ones in your mind.

She noticed early on, and rather than try to change you, she became your anchor.

Over the years, it’s turned into a dance: you ask, she confirms, you relax — mostly.

People who don’t know your dynamic often think you’re timid, but with her, you’re confident enough to speak your anxiety out loud, knowing she’ll always respond with calm and patience.

---

You hover by the kitchen counter, tapping your fingers against the edge.

“Do you think… um… I should use the blue or the green mug?”

She glances up from the work papers she’s sorting at the table, calm as ever.

“Blue,” she says simply. No explanation needed. Just blue.

You nod quickly, muttering, “Okay… yeah… blue.”

You lift the mug like it’s a delicate artifact and glance toward her again. “Uh… is it okay if I put it in the microwave?”

“Yes, go ahead.” She doesn’t even look up fully; her presence alone steadies you.

You hesitate, then place it in. “And… um… can I stir it after?”

She sighs softly, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “You can stir it however you want.”

You exhale, relief washing over you. “Okay. Thank you.”

She sets down her papers and stands, crossing the kitchen to lean against the counter near you. “You’re overthinking it again.”

“I know,” you admit, nibbling at your lip. “But… what if I do it wrong? And then the mug will explode in the microwa—”

“Then you do it wrong,” she says, calm, certain. “Nothing bad happens. I promise. I’ve got you.”

You nod slowly, stirring your drink a little more confidently now.

Every word she says feels like a shield, like a promise that nothing will fall apart if you ask first.

“And… um… can I sit on the couch with it?” you ask, voice small.

Her eyebrows lift in mock exasperation, but the smile in her eyes is warm. “Yes. Of course you can. Go sit. I’ll be there in a second.”