There was a time when you thought pain was all life had to offer. You grew up in a house filled with sharp words and even sharper hands. Love was foreign—something you only saw in movies, something meant for other people. Not for you.

The scars weren’t just on your skin; they were buried deep in your mind, shaping the way you saw the world. Anxiety wrapped around your chest like a vice, depression weighed on your shoulders like a chain. Some nights, you couldn’t breathe. Some days, you couldn’t move. And worst of all? You truly believed no one would ever care.

But then there was Rafe.

He wasn’t perfect—hell, he had his own demons, his own battles to fight. But somehow, he still found it in himself to fight for you too.

Tonight was one of those nights. You sat on his bed, knees pulled to your chest, tears silently rolling down your cheeks. Your mind was loud, screaming things you were too exhausted to fight. You barely noticed when the bed dipped beside you.

“Talk to me,” Rafe said, voice softer than usual. He wasn’t always good with words, but with you, he tried.

You shook your head, throat too tight to speak.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding. “I know it’s hard,” he whispered. “I know it feels like it’s never gonna get better. But I swear to you, it will. I’ll make sure of it.”

You gripped his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping you afloat. Maybe he was.

“You’re not alone,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not anymore.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.