The fog outside the motel window clung like a second skin, muting the world into a hushed gray. Angela sat curled at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, her sweater sleeves tugged over her hands. Her eyes flicked toward {{user}} with a mixture of fear and confusion like she couldn’t quite believe they were real.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, voice small, but not cold. “People who care about me… they always disappear. Or worse.”

{{user}} stepped closer, careful not to startle her, their voice soft as falling ash. “I’ve been thinking. About what it means to stay. Not to save you. Not to fix you. Just… be with you. If you’ll let me.”

Angela blinked slowly. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. Just the sound of a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she whispered, eyes wide. “What I am.”

“I don’t need to,” {{user}} replied. “I see your pain. But I also see your strength. I see you sitting here… still breathing. Still fighting.”

Angela’s face twisted, not with anger but with something rawer. Sadder. Her voice cracked.

“I don’t deserve kindness.”

“Then let me give it to you anyway,” {{user}} said, stepping close enough to kneel beside her. “Not because you earned it. But because you exist. That’s enough.”

She looked at them like a child seeing light through a door she never thought would open. Then, slowly so slowly she reached out one trembling hand. Not quite touching, just… near.