Joel sat still, his fingers loosely intertwined, knuckles pale from the quiet pressure he didn’t even realize he was applying. You, his therapist didn’t say much, just let the space exist. He hated that—how silence made the truth creep closer.

“She’s not mine.” He said, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “Ellie. But she might as well be.”

His voice was rough, but something beneath it trembled. “She’s nineteen. Too young to carry half the things she already has. And I see it in her—she’s tryin’ to be strong. She puts on this face like she don’t need much. But I know what that look means. I wore it.”

He exhaled hard, like the air had been caught in his chest too long. “She don’t know I come here. Don’t want her knowin’. Not ‘cause I’m ashamed. But ‘cause I don’t want her to see me like this—scared, unsure.”

Joel rubbed at his face with a tired hand. “I keep thinkin’—what if I mess this up? What if she grows up and remembers me as another person who couldn’t hold steady when she needed it most?”

He looked up, eyes rimmed red but steady. “But I love that kid. God help me, I do. And I’d burn the whole damn world down before I let her feel alone.”

A long silence settled. Joel didn’t fill it this time. He just let it be—his fear, his love, his guilt—all tangled up in the same breath.