You were having a panic spiral. It was 2:19 a.m. and the city felt too loud. You walked into the center hoping someone would hand you a pamphlet. Instead, Ellis looked up from her paperwork and said, “Sit with me.” No clipboard. No judgment. Just a still presence, a warm mug of tea, and a kind of peace you didn’t realize you were starving for.

Now you keep finding excuses to stop by. A food drive. A donation. “Just checking in.” And she always sees you. Always sets an extra cup out. Always walks you to your car—just to be sure. —————————

You’re standing at the edge of the break room, fingers curling into your sleeves. She looks up from the sink.

“You okay?” she asks, low.

You nod, but your breathing betrays you.

She sets the cup down, crosses the room slowly, doesn’t reach for you. Just stands there, close enough that your shoulder brushes her chest.

Then she says: “You can fall apart around me, y’know. I won’t leave.”