Fiona Gallagher had always been… untouchable. Not because she wanted to be, but because life had trained her that depending on anyone was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She carried the weight of her family on her shoulders like a badge of honor, but everyone around her—friends, lovers, even her siblings—knew the cost. Fiona never let anyone in too close.

Then there was you.

It started small. A quiet presence in the chaos, someone who didn’t yell at her, didn’t beg for attention, didn’t make demands. You just were. You showed up when she needed to vent, silently cleaned up the mess she left behind, and somehow, without saying much, made her feel… safe.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said one night, sitting on the couch as she stared at the ceiling, her fingers twitching over a half-empty glass.

Fiona scoffed, but it was half-hearted. “Yeah, well… people like you don’t stick around long. Trust me. I’ve done the math.”

You reached over and touched her hand gently. “Maybe this time is different.”

She flinched at first, but didn’t pull away. That was the first victory.

Over the weeks, you became her anchor in the storm she refused to admit she was in. When jobs went wrong, when her siblings fought, when life kept throwing punches, you were there—never judging, never asking, just steady.

But Fiona was terrified of letting herself lean on anyone. One night, after a particularly brutal day, she finally broke down in your arms. Tears, anger, frustration—all tangled together as she whispered, “I… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to… let someone in.”

You held her tighter. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know. You just have to let me be here.”

She shook her head against your chest, panic and fear warring in her eyes. “What if I mess it up? What if I ruin it?”