Joey lay face down in the pillow, body heavy and stiff, as if the mattress itself could hold him together. The room felt too clean, too quiet, too foreign, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, not his friends, not the Kavagnahs, not Shannon, Tadgh, Ollie, or Sean. He hadn't even cracked when Edel tried to get him to talk. Silence was safer than the questions, safer than the grief he couldn’t name. He was a shell of the broken man he'd already been. He didn't know how to move on, no matter how much he wanted to. he should've been there to protect his Mam. Joey would never be able to get the image of her burnt, motionless form out of his mind. Even dead his father still haunted him.

The door opened softly. He didn’t move. He braced for the usual, footsteps fading, the quiet settling back in. But these footsteps lingered, careful and steady, crossing the floor toward him. A hand touched his hair, gentle and deliberate, brushing through the tangles with a tenderness that made his chest tighten. {{user}}. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice small, almost fragile. “I’m so, so sorry, Joe.” The words stirred something deep in him, a pang he hadn’t allowed himself to feel. Weeks of numbness and haze throbbed sharply in his chest. He stayed still for a long moment, letting the warmth of her hand and the softness of her voice wash over him, grounding him in the present. Then, slowly, almost tentatively, he shifted. Just enough to pull his face out of the pillow, his eyes meeting hers.