The soft creak of the door opening barely registered, but you recognized the quiet, familiar footsteps. Rio didn’t say anything at first. She just stood there, her presence warm and grounding even without a word. Eventually, you felt the bed shift as she sat beside you, her weight gentle but steady, like she was anchoring you to reality.

“You’re scaring me, you know,” she finally said, her voice soft but firm, a thread of worry lacing her words. You didn’t respond. How could you explain the weight pressing down on you, the way everything felt so impossibly heavy?

Her hand found yours under the blankets, her fingers cool but comforting as they intertwined with yours. “Talk to me, baby,” she pleaded gently. “Please. I can’t help if you won’t let me in.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you kept them at bay, refusing to let them fall. “I’m fine,” you whispered, the words hollow and unconvincing even to yourself.

Rio shook her head, leaning closer. “No, you’re not,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And it’s okay to not be fine. But it’s not okay to go through this alone. You can talk to me, love. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Her other hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your face toward her. Her dark eyes, filled with so much love and tenderness, met yours. “You’re important to me,” she said firmly, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Whatever you’re feeling, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this.”