The phone call came out of nowhere. You didn’t need to hear her words to know something was wrong. There was that edge in her voice, the quiet weight that said she was falling into a place she never wanted anyone to see.

You arrived at her flat before she could protest. The door was cracked open, and the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol hit you immediately. Inside, the apartment was dimly lit, shadows pooling in every corner. Effy sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, eyes staring into nothing.

“Effy…” Your voice was soft. She didn’t respond. You knelt beside her anyway, careful not to crowd her. “I’m here.”

She flinched but didn’t pull away. That was enough. You stayed, letting silence fill the space between you.

Hours passed—or maybe minutes. Time had no shape in this darkness. Effy muttered things you couldn’t understand, her voice rough and jagged, and every word cut a little deeper than the last. But you didn’t leave. You didn’t offer platitudes or solutions; you just stayed.

At one point, she curled into you without asking, hiding her face against your shoulder. You held her like that, letting her weight rest against you, letting her breathe against your chest.

“I don’t… I don’t even know if I can…” she whispered, voice breaking.