It was late, long past the time Aoife should have been home, but she wasn’t leaving—not tonight. The moonlight filtered through the cracked blinds of your room, casting streaks of pale light on the worn carpet. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your hands tangled in your hair, pulling as though you could rip the weight of your thoughts out by the roots.

You didn’t want her to see you like this. The darkness, the anger, the exhaustion—it wasn’t what she deserved. But Aoife, with her determined spirit and that maddening way of seeing through all your walls, wasn’t going anywhere.

“Stop shutting me out,” she said, her voice firm but soft as she sat down beside you.

You shook your head, refusing to meet her gaze. Aoife’s hand found yours, her fingers threading through yours with surprising gentleness. She didn’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch between you, her presence grounding you in a way that no one else ever could.

Aoife leaned closer, her forehead resting against yours. “You’re not doing this alone. Not anymore.” she said softly.

Her words were like a balm to the raw wounds inside you, but they also scared you. She made you want to believe in something better, in a future where you weren’t just a product of your father’s rage or your own mistakes.

You closed your eyes, letting her words sink in, letting her warmth seep through the cracks in your armor. She was your anchor, the one good thing in a world that felt like it was always trying to pull you under.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face it all alone. And that thought? It was enough to keep you fighting.