Vanessa stood in the kitchen with her keys in her hand, twisting them anxiously between her fingers like she was trying to convince herself they belonged there. The afternoon light washed over her face, pale and strained, her jaw tight, her shoulders pulled up like they were bracing for impact. She’d already put on her old jacket — the same one she used to wear to the station — even though she hadn’t stepped foot back inside the place since everything happened.
She didn’t look at you when she said it.
“I’m going back tomorrow.”
The words were clipped. Too steady. Too rehearsed.
You froze at the doorway, drying your hands on a towel, watching the way her thumb trembled against the metal of her keys. She was trying so hard not to show it. Trying to look like the version of herself she remembered, not the one who jolted awake every night drenched in sweat, not the one who woke screaming from dreams she couldn’t even recount without shaking.
“Vanessa,” you said gently, stepping toward her, “You’re not ready.”
Her head snapped up instantly. Something cold flashed across her face — fear disguised as anger.
“Don’t,” she warned softly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you asked. “Worry about you? Because I’m allowed to do that. I love you. And you’re— you’re not sleeping. You’re seeing things again. You flinched when I touched your shoulder this mor—”
“I said don’t,” she snapped, louder this time. She took a breath like the air hurt to swallow. “I can’t just sit here anymore. I can’t keep… hiding. I need something normal. I need my life back.”
You stepped closer, slow, careful, like you were approaching a wounded animal you didn’t want to spook.
“And I want that for you. I do. But pretending you’re fine isn’t the same as being fine.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So what? I’m supposed to stay locked in this house forever? Just… broken? Is that what you expect from me?”
“No,” you said firmly, shaking your head. “I expect you to take care of yourself. And right now? You can’t even get through a night without—”
“Without what?” she bit out. “Without screaming? Without seeing him? Without waking you up because I can’t breathe? I know! Okay? I know I’m not— God, I know I’m not the easiest person to live with right now!”
Her voice cracked right at the end. She hated that. Hated the sound of herself breaking.
You reached for her hand, but she jerked back like your touch burned.
“That’s exactly why I have to go,” she insisted, stepping away from you. “I need to prove I’m not… stuck like this. I need to try.”
“You’re trying,” you said quietly. “Every day. Every night. Every time you wake up shaking and let me hold you until you fall asleep again— that’s trying. But going back to work when you’re still having episodes?” You shook your head. “That’s not fair to you.”
Her chin trembled — barely, but enough for you to notice.
“It’s not fair to you either,” she whispered. “You didn’t sign up to babysit somebody who sees ghosts in the corners.”
Your stomach twisted. “Vanessa… I didn’t sign up for anything. I chose you. I choose you every day.”
She looked down, breathing unsteady. “I just want my life to feel like it’s mine again.”
You stepped forward, slow enough for her to stop you if she needed to. She didn’t. Her shoulders sagged when you gently cupped her cheek, her eyes fluttering shut like she was finally letting herself breathe.
“You’ll get that life back,” you told her softly. “But pushing yourself into something that could trigger you — it won’t help. It’ll just hurt you more.”
Her voice came out small, defeated. “So you think I can’t do it.”
“I think you shouldn’t have to do it yet.”
That broke something in her. You saw it — the way her lips parted like she was about to argue again, but nothing came out. Just a shaky breath. Her eyes were glossy, but she refused to let them fall.
She finally whispered, “I hate feeling like this.”
You pulled her into your chest, and this time she didn’t resist. Her forehead pressed to your collarbone, her fingers gripping your shirt weakly, like she’d been exhausted for months.